


Little Shots That Keep Shooting

by TheMourningMadam



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:20:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 40,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24364930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMourningMadam/pseuds/TheMourningMadam
Summary: A series of Dramione one-shots. Mostly fluffy ones, but angst may find it's way in.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	1. Of Apple Crepes and Dragon Tamers

The fifth of June. Draco Malfoy's twenty-seventh birthday. There was warm sunlight filtering in through the window and a warm, tiny body splayed across his back. "Daddy! It's your birthday!" came the sweet voice of his three-year-old daughter, Rose.

Draco opened one eye, then the other and inhaled deeply. The sweet smell of his wife's perfume and the soft, muted scent of the salve his daughter often wore after a bath mixed pleasantly and calmed Draco's heart—the smell of home. "It is, is it?" he asked, kissing her tiny forearm as she hugged round his neck.

He felt her nod into his back, her fluffy curls brushing his bare skin. He pulled her down next to him and rolled over in bed. Her chubby little cheeks were flush with excitement and she hadn't quite woken up fully just yet. Draco pushed the silken white blond curls away from her face and she curled into his chest. "You still sleepy, my girl?"

Rose said nothing, and instead used her wee little finger to trace the Sectumsempra scar across his chest. For a three-year-old, Rose always questioned the world around her and was astonishingly articulate. But she was also intuitive and had never asked about the scars that marred his body. Often, she would sit in his lap and trace his faded Dark Mark while he spoke. Draco dreaded the day her curiosity finally got the best of her and he'd have to explain who he was and what he'd done. Many nights, when Rose had gone to bed, Hermione traced his scars in much the same fashion, and assured him that his daughter held nothing but infinite love for him and that would never change, no matter who he may have been in a past life.

"Well, if it's my birthday, does that mean I get a present?" he asked her.

"Oh, yeah," she said, her voice small.

She climbed over him and slid to the floor. Draco listened to the sound of her feet pattering over the hard wood floors as she ran to her room and then all the way back. He sat up and ran a hand through his crazily messy hair. He could hear Hermione puttering around in the kitchen a floor below them. When Rose reentered the room, she could barely contain her excitement. She was just like Hermione when it came to gift exchanges—she enjoyed giving gifts more than receiving them.

"What's mummy making? Smells good," Draco said, rubbing his hand over his growling belly.

"Apples," was all Rose said, handing him a small package and climbing back onto the bed beside him.

If Hermione was making her stewed apples, that meant crepes. Draco's mouth watered at the mere thought. "Open, daddy," Rose instructed in a bossy tone that was strikingly similar to her mother's.

Draco smiled to himself—how had he been graced with two beautiful, bossy witches in his life? He slid a finger under the poorly wrapped gift wrap and pulled the paper away. He opened the lid of the box and inside, there was a stuffed animal and a hand-drawn picture. He lifted the drawing first, and it was nothing more than a bunch of swirls on the page, moving back and forth. "Mumma made it move!" Rose told him proudly.

"And what is this beautiful piece of artwork supposed to be?" he asked.

She pointed at one blob that may have had a slightly humanoid shape. "That's you! And that," she gestured to another large purple circular scribble, "is Walter!"

Walter was an imaginary Hungarian Horntail that lived under Rose's bed. Each night, Draco had to go in and tame Walter enough to remove him from the room and assure Rose she was safe. Never mind that he'd never even attempted to interact with a _real_ dragon in his life—to his little girl, he was a valiantly fighting hero. "That is precisely what Walter to looks like!" he told her, reaching into the box and retrieving a stuffed dragon, complete with a tiny girl riding its back.

"That's me, daddy! When I get big, I tame dragons, just like you!" her tiny voice said excitedly.

"Excellent, Rosie Posie! Then you can help Walter each night!" he told her.

She reached over and pinched the dragon's plump belly. _Thanks for taming dragons, Daddy. I love you!_ Rose's voice emulated from the plush dragon. Draco put an arm around her and kissed her mop of curls. "This is the best present ever, lovey. Let's go down and see if mummy's finished those apples!"

He stood and tossed the child over his shoulder, causing her to squeal loudly with merriment. When he entered the kitchen, Hermione was making breakfast, still clad in her pajamas. Draco, Rose still over his shoulder, marched over and kissed Hermione's head as she folded crepes with expertise. "Happy birthday!"

Draco grunted an acknowledgment, setting Rose down on her feet. "Rosie, why don't you take a seat and I'll make you some warm milk?"

"Rose, did you give daddy his gift?" Hermione asked, serving up individual plates of crepes and placing a healthy serving of stewed apples over the top.

"She did. Now I can hear my girl's voice whenever I want," he replied, assisting Hermione. "She can sit on my workbench at the Apothecary."

He sat at the table and leaned forward to cut Rose's food into bite sized pieces. Hermione ran a hand through his hair as she stood behind him. "Rose, what do you say we give daddy his other gift, hmm?"

Hermione leaned over his back, her arm wrapped around his neck loosely. She held a small bulb out in front of his face, similar to a clear Christmas ornament. But inside, there was a tiny, pulsing kidney bean shape. Draco could feel his face begin to heat up and his hands were shaking, a fork full of apple forgotten halfway to his mouth. He was going to be a father. Again. A smile crept across his face and Rosie beamed. Hermione kissed his cheek as he took the bauble from her. He had thought himself fortunate to father one child, but to have a second—it was more than he deserved. His little Rose was so innocent and full of life and he never expected to be blessed with a second little one.

She moved around to look at his face fully, and he was speechless. He leaned forward and buried his face into her stomach, kissing her belly. "Daddy," Rose's voice cut into his teary haze.

"Yes, baby girl?" he asked, holding Hermione near to where he was sitting.

"If it's a boy, can we feed him to Walter?"

o-o-o


	2. Black

Funerals. The color black always reminded Hermione of funerals. That was until she came across Draco Malfoy in the library. She had been eyeing him from afar for weeks as he sat alone in the back corner, his books, and parchment strewed about the table before him. When he wasn't in his tidy Slytherin uniform, he was exclusively done up in all black ensembles—on weekends, the finest suits money could buy; on weekday evenings, a pair of trousers and a cashmere sweater.

The way the dark ebony contrasted with the milky white of his skin was absolutely tantalizing. He was ashamed of the Dark Mark he still sported, now a white raised outline on his otherwise flawless skin. But alone in the farthest corner of the library, he'd let his guard down, completely engrossed in his studies. On Tuesday, she watched as he pulled his sleeves up to his elbows while he leaned over his cauldron to complete his homework assignment, the steam rising from the cauldron's contents making his hair fall across the grey eyes that haunted her dreams.

Hermione watched him from between books and behind shelves. She took in the way his lips moved subtly as he read over notes, how he would bite his bottom lip as he stirred the cauldron, the satisfied smirk he'd give when the potion was perfectly executed.

On Thursday, she watched as he skimmed the shelves, looking for a tome that might help him with their Charms assignment. She took in the way his nimble fingers grazed the spines as he read and wondered silently if the coolness he exuded in his everyday life would carry into his touch. Would his skin be surprisingly warm? Or would it be cool as the marble it mimicked? He reached above his head to retrieve a thin book from the top shelf, and that black sweater rose just enough to show a thin strip of contrasting pale white skin.

On Friday, he strode past where she sat, heading to his usual refuge. He had changed once more into a pair of black trousers and a simple black jumper with the zipper pulled down to expose a little more of his neck.

While everything wasn't black and white—Hermione flourished in shades of grey, actually—she knew one thing for certain: black no longer reminded her of funerals. Black brought along the smell of broom polish and spearmint. Black was the color of the sky outside of the library windows as she spent countless hours watching him. Black brought along mystery and intrigue.

And Hermione was always up for solving a particularly intriguing mystery. She rose from her desk and sauntered to where he sat. "Mind if I sit here?" she asked, and he gestured absently to the empty chair across from him with a half-smile.

"Did you understand that lecture in Arithmancy?" he asked, pulling his notes on the subject.

She smiled and began explaining the intricacies of numerology.

o-o-o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! This falls into The Princess and the Pariah.


	3. The Slytherin Captain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to apologize to my fellow Dramione enthusiasts. This is aTheomione. I actually really love Theodore Nott. This was written by request from my one thousandth reviewer on The Princess and The Pariah, minrrvamcg. Thank you for giving me an excuse to write this Theomione. And, to my Dramione lovers, read this with an open mind—at least it's not Ron, right? (I love Ron, too, honestly…I'm a disaster). Oh, AND, I know the team and the players are all screwed up. I just needed familiar names, really.
> 
> I'm putting this in my collection of Dramione's because this features a totally jealous Draco.

Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, pouring over an Arithmancy text. Or, trying to pour over it, at least. She was welcomingly distracted as the Slytherin Quidditch team filed in after a long day's practice. The boys in her own house were dashing in their scarlet jerseys and robes, of course. But nothing could compare to the Slytherins. The two most fetching of which were the Captain, who played Keeper, and the Seeker.

She had watched Draco Malfoy, the Seeker, silently for years now. His thin, slender frame and the ease with which he handled his broom. He was a sight for sore eyes, even if everything that flowed from his mouth was vile and his personality like poison. He had grown tall, handsome, strong and he oozed a confidence that Hermione could only imagine having a tenth of. He _knew_ he was gorgeous and he played up his sex appeal at every opportunity. He was also currently courting Pansy Parkinson, and Hermione found herself glaring at the pug-nosed girl at every opportunity. She watched as he took a seat next to her and slung his arm around her neck, pulling her in for a kiss. Hermione seethed internally and turned her attention to the Captain.

Theodore Nott played Keeper and was the opposite of Draco in looks. Where Draco was thin and agile, Theo was brawny and muscular. His hair was dark with a natural wave to it, kept stylishly messy by the hand he ran through it constantly. His eyes were bright blue, making Hermione think of the Caribbean ocean she'd swam in as a child. His jaw was sharp but his face still handsomely boyish, mischievous, his lips plump and _totally_ kissable. His uniform stretched pleasantly over well-defined pecs and biceps. The thought of what he'd look like without that emerald shirt had her nearly biting a hole into her lip. He was every bit as confident as Draco, but he was notoriously picky in the witches he would associate with—and as a result was rarely seen with anyone.

Hermione's eyes travelled down the line. Zabini—tall, dark-skinned, an Italian accent that would make any self-respecting girl want to drop their knickers. Montague—sandy haired, fair skinned and green-eyed, to match their colors. Warrington—dark, brooding, mysterious. Urqhart, Vaisey, Pucey—all gorgeous. How did the girls of the Slytherin House even get their work done with all of the blokes in the house looking better than the Australian men's swim team at the last summer Olympics her father had dragged her to?

She decided they'd provided her with enough of a distraction for the day and she gathered her things, mumbling a goodbye to her two oblivious best friends. Hermione ambled into the library, willing her mind to clear of any thought of the men in green. She just needed a cold shower. And a really hot snog. She nearly groaned as she made her way back to her table in the corner.

Hermione was able to immerse herself in her work once more and stayed focused through dinner. But not long after dinnertime, she heard the bored drawl of one handsome Seeker and the booming response of his Captain. "I don't know why we're even reviewing these potions," Draco stated lowly, and she heard the thunk of their schoolbags hitting a nearby table top. "If you would just pay attention in class, you'd have caught on by now."

"Well, if you won't help me, perhaps I could get someone else to," Theo retorted, sounding slightly put out by his friend's comment.

Draco scoffed arrogantly. "Like who? Granger? Good luck with that!"

Hermione's interest was piqued even further when her name was brought into it and she strained to hear their hushed conversation. "Shut up, Malfoy," Theo warned under his breath.

"Not my problem you've fallen for the swot, mate. She would never give you the time of day," came the lazy silken tone once more.

Was Draco insinuating that _Theodore Nott_ was in some way interested in her? There wasn't a lacewing fly's chance in a windstorm of that happening. "Don't look at me like that! We've all noticed the way you look at her, Nott. All starry eyed and dim-witted."

Did Theo watch her as much as she watched him? Hermione's heart began to beat somewhere in the base of her throat. Hadn't she just been thinking about how dashing he was? How unequivocally handsome? Hadn't she just been staring at his lips across the Great Hall as he spoke to Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass?

Hermione decided to take matters into her own hands. _Somewhat_. She stood slowly, feeling an excitement welling in the pit of her stomach. She put away her Arithmancy text and pulled the Potions one from her bag and straightened her skirt and oxford. She put her chin up defiantly and walked toward the Potions stacks, making sure to pass by where Draco and Theo were pulling out their own work.

"Well, if it isn't the bushiest, swottiest, know-it-all in the land," Draco smirked, purposely trying to goad her into a tiff.

"Malfoy," was Hermione's short reply, though she couldn't help but notice the mischievous, sexy glint in his eye. She turned her attention to Theo, who was looking at her with a bemused eyebrow quirked, a small smile on his lips. "Theodore."

"Oh, it's like that, then? Surname for me, given name for precious _Theodore_?" Malfoy pretended to pout.

" _Theodore_ didn't insult me as I walked past," she replied, noticing that she was playing with fire as both of her favorite Quidditch players were currently staring at her.

Draco simply rolled his eyes and opened his Potions book, while Theo looked at his friend. Hermione missed the wink Theo gave to Draco as he stood from the table, her back now turned on them to retrieve a book from the top shelf. "Let me get that, kitten," Theo nearly purred into her ear as he reached for the same book and closed his hand around hers.

Hermione could feel her heart pounding in its cage at the feel of the strapping man behind her, the hard planes of his chest against her back. His scent was clouding her thoughts and she was vaguely aware that behind him, Draco Malfoy sat—likely watching the show. She cleared her throat and took the book from him. "Thank you. Being short is really a hassle sometimes," she tried to joke, turning around to see Theo looking at her with a trademark Slytherin smirk.

Beyond him, Draco was pretending to stare at his Potions text, but she could see that he was watching the interaction from under his eyelashes. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was something going on that she wasn't privy to. "Say, Granger. I'm really failing Potions pretty spectacularly. And Malfoy here is absolutely no help to me. Would you be willing to work with me on that Draught of Living Death?"

"Sure," she smiled up at him.

"Go fuck yourself, Malfoy," Theo whispered down to his friend as he retrieved his books and followed Hermione to her table.

Hermione cleared a space for Theo and instead of taking the hint and sitting across from her, he saddled himself in the chair directly next to her. She began speaking, trying to explain the intricacies of brewing a proper Draught of Living Death. When she looked up, Theo hadn't even cracked open his book. He was leaning on his closed fist on the desk, angled toward her, dangerously close. "Did…did you have question, Theo?" she asked him as he stared at her.

His cobalt eyes were nearly crystal, captivating her from under dark lashes. A wide smile spread handsomely across his face and he shook his head. "Not at all. I just enjoy hearing you speak," he told her, garnering a blush on her part.

"I've been told I talk too much…that I'm a swotty, know-it-all," she replied, thrilled that he was showing her this close of attention.

"Ignore Draco. He's just insecure because there is someone in this world who knows more than he thinks he does," Theo told her, leaning forward on his arm a little further.

Hermione looked away from Theo's captivating eyes and down to her homework. "You aren't really failing Potions, are you, Theo?" she asked quietly.

He let out a deep, rolling laugh. "Oh, no. I am failing that class currently. I'm lousy with ingredient interactions. But Draco _could have_ assisted me in the common room. I came here to see you."

Hermione looked up to him and he gave her a charming grin, bringing his fingers up to brush her hair behind her ear. "Why…why would you want to see me?"

"I think, darling Hermione, that the better question is _why wouldn't_ I want to see you?" he asked in a measured, flirty tone.

"Forgive me, Theo. You've never shown any interest in me before now," she countered, feeling foolish.

She was certain that something was going on. The dark-haired wizard raised an eyebrow. "Really? And how do you explain the flowers at your place at the Gryffindor table?"

Hermione's eyes grew wide. A single daisy had been left next to her goblet each morning and she'd chalked it up to Neville being bashfully sweet. "Or, how about the way your schoolbag has felt significantly lighter as of late?" he asked her and she furrowed her brow. "I put a feather-light charm on it when I saw you struggling that day in Charms."

She had scarce noticed but now she thought of it, her bag _was_ lighter. "Or, how about the fact that I _always_ fly right in front of your usual seat in the Gryffindor stands at the start of _every_ game even though the hoops are a pitch away?" he demanded lightheartedly.

Hermione had always assumed she was just lucky to have the Captain fly tantalizingly close to her each Slytherin game. Her heart was definitely pitter-pattering within her at that moment. "Why haven't you ever said anything?" she asked him quietly, swallowing a lump that welled in her throat.

Theo shrugged. "Why the hell would you want anything to do with me? I'm not charming like Blaise or intelligent like Draco. I'm…just Theo."

"Well, 'Just Theo,' I happen to think you're perfectly charming and intelligence is far more than being book smart—something Draco Malfoy seems to not understand," she told him and he laughed.

"Is that right?" he questioned and he brought his fingers up to touch her cheek gently.

Hermione had enough piece of mind to hum a response before Theo brought his lips to hers. The whole ordeal felt surreal and she could hardly believe her luck. She responded with equal fervor, parting her lips to grant him access as he placed both hands on either side of her neck. His hands were closely symbolic of the man himself—soft in all the right ways, but with rough calluses from years of flying a broomstick. Theo was soft at heart, unsure of himself though he outwardly exuded confidence; rough around the edges, despite his pureblooded upbringing.

Hermione ran her hands up over his broad chest, up toward his shoulders, nearly moaning with the sheer satisfaction that his body felt just as hard under the uniform as it looked. Theo draped one hand lazily on the back of her chair, wrapping his other into the curls at the base of her neck, pulling her closer to himself. His stance was relaxed, one leg outstretched, the other tucked under his chair as he leaned into her. She placed her hands on his thighs to brace herself as she reciprocated.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," came the agitated drawl from behind her.

Hermione jumped and pulled away from Theo, putting her hand over her mouth as he glared over her shoulder. "What for?" she asked, spinning around to face Draco.

"For seducing another prefect in the library," Draco responded, leaning back against a desk and looking at his nails in boredom.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Ten from Slytherin then. For being a prick."

Draco looked up from his fingernails long enough to shoot the pair an icy glare. "Move it along, Nott. Before I have to give you both detention."

Hermione began gathering her things, fuming at the sudden intrusion and tone in the Seeker's voice. She wanted to make a scene, but Draco was still Theo's best friend. And she _definitely_ wanted to pick up where she and Theo had left off. "You owe me a bottle of werewolf brewed brandy," Theo told Draco.

Her eyes shot up at that and looked between the two Slytherins. Theo was smirking at his friend, who was still actively trying to reduce him to ash with a mere look. "What are you talking about?" Hermione demanded.

She knew it was too good to be true. Theo had just been messing with her. There was some kind of a bet involved and she was the ripe little cherry at the center of it all. Theo turned to her and took her bag from her hand. "Draco bet me that I couldn't admit my crush to you before graduation. I told him I could."

"We made that bet five years ago," Draco rolled his eyes.

Hermione looked between the two. They were mere months away from graduation. "Nothing like waiting until the last minute, Nott," she teased, touching his arm, her fear dissipated.

Draco's eyes narrowed and focused on where she was touching Theo's arm. "Run along before I recommend you both for detention with Slughorn. I hear he's got the detainees assisting Hagrid by scrubbing the floor in the hippogriff stalls with a toothbrush."

o-o-o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What was that, even? I have no idea. But I love this pairing for some reason. Sweet Theo. A quick one-shot. A jealous Draco!
> 
> Please review!


	4. This Class is Ridiculous

Draco Malfoy stood at the back of Lupin's class, his arms folded and an angry scowl on his face. How was it even legal that a man could line thirteen-year-olds up and make them face their worst fears? Potter was in the room, for Merlin's sake! What if the Dark Lord, as he'd heard his father call him, popped out? What would he look like? Gross and disfigured? Draco knew he didn't have a body—so what would appear?

Draco knew what—or rather, who—would appear when he took his turn up to the front. Lupin hadn't balked at his threat to inform his father. He hadn't even flinched. Draco knew he couldn't possibly face a boggart in front of his entire class. What would they all think? They all had rational fears—the dark, clowns, spiders…

When the other Slytherins had gone, it was finally Draco's turn. His heart was already thrumming. "This class is ridiculous."

Lupin raised an eyebrow at him. He looked around at his classmates and caught Granger's eye. She'd seen Professor McGonagall telling her she'd failed her exams—typical Granger…safe fear. For all of her Gryffindor bravery, her worst fear was something as mundane as failing a class. What would _she_ think when he stepped forward? He saw a tiny quirk at the corner of her mouth, encouraging him. The others were looking at him in curious amusement—what would the almighty Draco Malfoy have to fear?

Lupin opened the doors of the wardrobe and Draco took a deep breath. From within the wooden structure, first his father's silvery blond hair appeared. Then the rest of his body followed and he stalked toward Draco, his chin held high. His heart was beating rapidly and he could feel his face flushing with morbid anticipation and shame. He could hear the sniggers behind him as his classmates watched on.

His father stood right in front of him and stared down his nose at him. He had a scowl on his face and had a sneer of disgust, one he held especially for Draco. "The mudblood beating you in classes, _again_?"

Draco said nothing, only watched his father grow more impatient with his silence. "Well? Tell me, Draco, how it is that someone born into a family of muggles can possibly do a better job at performing magic than someone who comes from thousands of years of pureblood lineage?"

"Stop it! Professor, can't you see it's bothering him?" he heard Granger shriek behind him.

Lupin put a hand up to silence her and furrowed his brow as he watched the scene play out. "Get rid of him, Mr. Malfoy," the Professor instructed.

Draco's hands automatically went behind his back and his head bowed—his father's preferred stance when he was busy berating him. "What a disappointment you turned into. I should have your mother pack your things and send you to Durmstrang immediately. But you'd miss your mummy too much, wouldn't you?" his father's upbraiding was unrelenting.

There was a spell he was supposed to be saying, something to make this end. What was he supposed to do again? "Your mother should be ashamed, raising a—"

Suddenly, Lucius Malfoy's clothing transformed into those of Minerva McGonagall and the class burst into giggles. He looked around and saw Granger standing behind him. _"Riddikulus!"_ she said and the shapeshifter shifted once more and became a seal, flopping around on the floor.

Granger gave him a nod and he turned on heel and ran, double time, out of the classroom. He had never been more humiliated in his entire life—now everyone in school would know. He went into the cold corridor beyond the classroom and began loosening his tie. He was burning up, embarrassment and anger radiating from within. He couldn't even go to his father to complain because then he'd have to explain _who_ appeared.

Draco feared disappointing his father more than anything else. He was constantly being questioned, berated, interrogated by him. His father was intimidating and had a tone that could cut through Draco and make him feel an inch tall. All he wanted in life was to do everything right—to make his father proud.

Draco could feel angry tears prickling at his eyes. Quiet footsteps sounded behind him and he swung around. Granger. She'd followed him out. As if his embarrassment could get any worse. She cleared her throat; he rolled his eyes. "Can I help you, Granger? Here to rub it in?"

He sat on the stairs and leaned forward on his knees. Granger came to sit next to him. "I'm sorry—I never knew."

"Would it have made a difference?" he asked bitingly.

She shrugged. "I'm not going to dumb myself down, if that's what you're asking. But I wouldn't mind studying with you, comparing notes and reading over your essays to offer advice."

"You want to begin working with me? And what will your friends say? Or mine?" he asked, laughing a little at her blatant optimism.

Granger bit her lip. "We need a place that's private…where students never go," she told him, blushing at the implications.

"There's a room on the seventh floor…the door only appears when you need to get into the room, but it will transform into whatever kind of space you need…" he told her. "Meet me at the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. After dinner."

Draco didn't know what had come over him, agreeing to meet the muggle-born. If his father ever found out…

That train of thought was lost when Granger looked up at him and smiled, nodding her head once in agreement. "I think we should start with Defense Against the Dark Arts…seeing as we both just missed the second half of class."

And with that, she stood and stepped around him to retrieve her bag from the Defense classroom. Her skirt brushed against his knees as she passed and it nearly brought him to ruin. He ran a hand over his face, steeling himself to face his classmates again. Somehow, it felt a little easier with Granger's offer still ringing through his head, the prospect of meeting her in private to study making his heart flutter as he dragged his feet back to the classroom to retrieve his things.

o-o-o


	5. The Fool to the Hermit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Tarot:
> 
> The Fool: (Upright): Beginnings, spontaneity, inexperience, faith in the future
> 
> (Reversed): Naivety, foolishness, recklessness, folly
> 
> The Fool's number is 0, symbolizing unlimited potential. The Fool is often times used to introduce the theme and meanings of the Major Arcana. The imagery on the card—the sunrise at his back, facing the direction of unknown possibility and potential, the Fool looking upward toward the sky, the unopened sack on the end of his staff, the white rose of purity, a white dog of protection—all harken to a journey of innocence lost, untapped potential, and lessons to be learned. He is unaware of the hardships that will befall him.
> 
> The Hermit: (Upright): Introspection, knowledge gained, solitude, reflection, growth
> 
> (Reversed): Loneliness, outcast, exiled, melancholy, isolation
> 
> The Hermit's number is 9—the ninth trump in the Major Arcana, symbolizing accomplishment, wisdom, and seeking the truth. Typically depicted as an old man, he's spent a lifetime travelling the Fool's journey, failing and succeeding. The imagery on the card—standing alone atop the pinnacle of a mountain, the six-pointed star (Solomon's, the wisest man to have ever lived, by many accounts, seal) within a lantern, the outward facing staff devoid of the sack, the use of his left hand, his cloak—all hold great meaning. He has power and knowledge and has reached his spiritual peak and is ready to begin sharing the secrets of what he has learned with others (but only those who seek answers and are willing to go to great efforts to attain the wisdom). He travels alone at night, the lantern of knowledge leading his way and he sees fresh aspects of his life and mind previously hidden in the shadows. He becomes a teacher, a guidance.

Hermione Granger lived quite peacefully in Rowena's Ravine, a valley between two low mountain chains. The valley was lush and green and vibrant in the spring and summer, barren and melancholically beautiful in autumn and winter. It had been ten years since the War had ended and she sought the quiet and solitude that the Ravine provided.

Her cottage was quaint and picturesque like something from a fairy tale, nestled right in the Scottish mountainside. It was tiny, filled to capacity with books of all kinds. Outside, a few rabbits and a stray cat or two moseyed about, eating all of her dandelions and some of the herbs she grew for Potion-making.

Her neighbors, kindly older witches and wizards who had lived in Rowena's Ravine for their entire lives, offered her polite conversation and assistance. They had remained mostly unaffected by the War, their quiet tiny valley protected from outside evils. As a result, she wasn't forced to relive her experiences with the War, the deaths she'd witnessed, the atrocities that would forever haunt her. She could have cordial conversations about the weather, the infestation of nargles that plagued their crops year in and year out—the thought made Hermione smile fondly as she thought of the demure witch whom everyone had called Loony, but as it turned out, was spot on about most things.

But the pensive almost slumbering solitude of this place was only part of the reason she had fled here with a quickness after the War took its toll. The other reason lived in a Swiss-style chalet built into the side of the mountain directly behind her home. _He_ lived there.

To say the War had taken a toll on her would be an understatement—she'd tried to maintain a semblance of normalcy after the War ended, working for the Ministry for a time. But the constant barrage of press, fan mail, letters of gratitude, death threats from Voldemort sympathizers, the constant vigilance required to watch her back at all times. It was exhausting and it wore her down to a shell of a being.

Hermione had heard that he lived here, a stowaway demanding privacy. His picture had appeared more than even hers in gossip rags and the newspaper—outrage that a Death Eater, a member of Voldemort's inner sanctum had evaded Azkaban. His name, his family, his integrity in defecting—all was called into question, an endless cycle of articles on repeat. A Ministry connection, tasked with keeping track of ex-Death Eaters, had tipped her off to his whereabouts, a slip of the tongue during a drunken Christmas party.

When life began closing in on her and she felt she could scarce breathe, she'd Apparated into the small village and asked around until she found the smallest cottage in the valley vacant. No matter that her belongings had the structure bursting at the seams—it provided the best view in the land.

At twilight, as the stars began to shine brightly in a soft lavender and indigo sky, Hermione could stand at her bedroom window and look up to his. She'd take in the pale golden glow of his lights and the faint outline of his form as he moved about within the home's sanctuary. Sometimes, if she waited long enough—which was most nights if she were honest—she could watch him leave through his front door, a small white dog scuttling about next to him. He'd walk at a leisurely pace, the blue glow from his wand illuminating his black outline, toward a steep ledge near his home. He would sit there for hours sometimes—rarely did she see him go back inside, for she tired far more easily.

Some nights, if the weather was unfavorable, she could see the outline of his lithe body sitting in a window seat. He enjoyed reading in that nook during thunderstorms and heavy snowfall. Those were some of Hermione's favorite nights. She would grab one of her favorite worn volumes and an old throw blanket and settle into the window seat she'd been inspired to create. Just partaking in the same activity as he soothed her permanently frayed nerves.

He'd intrigued her for years, to say the least. Since they were sixteen and he'd lowered his wand and refused to kill the Headmaster. He shattered everything she thought she knew. He was the enemy, the embodiment of evil, the Dark side of the coin to Harry's Light. That's what she had believed of him for six years, as she lived and worked side by side with the slippery serpent.

But that one act, the graceful fall of his arm as a war raged within him, a War beginning before him—that act took everything she _knew_ of him and smashed it to splinters. That was the moment she realized he was an _unwilling_ participant, caught up by the expectations of those around him, just as she.

That's not to say she regretted her part in Voldemort's downfall—she couldn't imagine allowing Harry and Ron to venture out and search for Horcruxes without her. But she was eighteen—not still a girl, but lacking a woman's experience. She hadn't a true choice in the matter—assist her friends or worry over their deaths every minute of every day. A Muggle-born, born into a world devoid of magic and suddenly she was one of three young, magical beings dropped into the middle of a plot to save the world.

He was her opposite, a boy of sixteen dropped into the plot to overthrow the rightful order of the world and replace it with decay and chaos. He had been scared and withdrawn their entire sixth year, a ghostly member of the walking dead as he pushed through the corridors between classes, holding the weight of the world in his shoulders as a modern-day Atlas. By the time she saw him next, as she writhed in unbridled agony on the floor of his home, he was devoid of emotion and life. Completely dead to those around him.

He was just a boy, a boy with no choice. A boy who wanted no part of a Dark life.

After Harry's account of what happened on the Astronomy Tower, after hearing of his inner turmoil, a tempest began to destroy the world around her. The water refused to clear from her lungs and her head was unable to break the raging current's surface. The world around her became muddied as morals dissipated and savagery reigned, a frantic battle to the literal death. But, periodically throughout, she would think of _him_ , a pang of empathy ringing through her as she thought of the battle he fought. He did the wrong thing to save the ones he loved, the only thing he knew to be right.

Moon-tide was fast approaching and Hermione made her way to her perch in the bedroom window. It was a still, enchanting evening and the full moon illuminated the lush green hillside leading up to his chalet. Right on time, his door opened and the white blond of his hair, bright in the moonlight, became clearly visible. But instead of heading to his favorite ledge, the blue light of his wand could be seen slowly ambling down the side of the mountain.

As he drew nearer, pale flesh luminescent in the light of the moon, Hermione's heart began to thrum. She hadn't seen more than his outline in more than a decade and she was sure that he hadn't had much human interaction, outside of perhaps his parents, in an equal amount of time. She watched as he drew nearer to the gate bordering her back garden and she rose from her seat and went to the door leading out to where he was approaching.

Hermione strode to meet him, the grass soft and luscious between her toes. She heard a rabbit scurry near her and then everything else was drowned out by the sound of her heart beating, the blood rushing behind her ears making a sound like waves crashing down. She stopped at the gate, which only rose to her mid-waist—just high enough to keep the doe and her fawns from the garden.

And then, there he was. He was older than when she'd last laid eyes on him, and she was sure the same could be said for her. His eyes were no longer haunted, but instead full of a wisdom and understanding that she longed for. His gait was tempered, even, relaxed. He gave off the air of someone who had all of their questions in life answered, and then some. He made no attempt to hide the foreboding blemish on his forearm. When he stopped, just on the other side of her gate, so close she could feel the gentle vibrations of his magic mixing and playing with hers, he offered her a smile.

"Granger," his voice was deep, raspy with misuse, "You've been watching me."

o-o-o


	6. It's Getting Hot in Here-Feelin' Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much lemonier than anything I've ever written
> 
> If you haven't ever heard he song "Feeling Good" by Michael Buble, I would suggest you go to youtube and give it a listen. It has a classic feel to it, though this version came out in 2005 (when this story is set) and is just what I would imagine Draco wanting to see her strip slowly to. You can imagine her movements to the background instrumentals. I don't own Harry Potter or the rights to this song

"Ginny, this is absolutely ridiculous!" Hermione whined for what must have been the thousandth time since she'd reluctantly agreed to accompany her friends to the Three Broomsticks for a few drinks.

The redhead merely rolled her eyes and continued holding up clothing to the petite brunette, analyzing each piece and shaking her head each time. "'Mione, you haven't been out with us in three months! It's Harry's birthday, for Merlin's sake!"

Hermione felt a wave of guilt and hastily snapped her mouth shut. Harry had invited her, already laying on the guilt thick as he tried to convince her that she had been neglecting them all. Ginny squealed with delight when she held up a shimmery gold dress. "Perfect! It brings out the gold flecks in your eyes! Go put this on!"

"I hardly think that's appropriate—why can't I just wear what I have on," she asked, gesturing to her cardigan and slacks.

"Because you're dressed as an eighty-five-year-old school marm! My brother is going to be there, don't you want to make him _a little_ sorry he broke things off?" Ginny asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

She and Ron had fallen into a depressing state of constant bickering—not fun, playful banter, but deep, wounding comments. Finally, just as she was getting ready to call it off, he plucked up the courage and did it himself. She'd never been so relieved to end a relationship in her life. That didn't mean she wasn't a little sore that he'd gone and united with Parvati Patil only a few months later. Hermione gnawed on her bottom lip for a moment and a sly smile appeared across her face. Ginny smirked. "That's what I thought."

Hermione changed into the dress, which was about six inches shorter than her comfort level. She stroked her wand along the hem and brought it down to a more reasonable length. The top was luckily high necked, though she had to put a sticking charm inside to make sure all of her assets remained in place. She sighed. All this for naught.

When she came out of the bathroom, Ginny frowned at the added length but wisely kept her mouth shut. "Here, let's just pin your curls into a low chignon."

After a few skilled attempts at taming the chestnut curls, Ginny smiled and plucked a few curls to frame her face. "For added romance. Are you finally going to allow me to glamorize you?" she asked hopefully.

"No, Gin. I'll just put a little color on my lips," Hermione replied, rolling her eyes and applying a translucent berry shade to give her lips a hint of color.

Ginny, dressed in a shade of green that complimented her husband's eyes, plaited her own long hair with the simple flick of her wand. Her own face was expertly done up and she slipped on her strappy sandals with ease. She levitated a pair of burgundy heels to Hermione and rolled her eyes as Hermione brought the length of the heel down by two inches. The brunette shrugged. "I would prefer not to break my neck."

Ginny stood and grabbed Hermione's hand, Apparating them to the Three Broomsticks with ease. Hermione took a deep breath and Ginny laughed. "Come on. It's just a small gathering of friends. Stay for a while and then leave to return to your precious cat and books."

They entered the pub and immediately made a beeline to their usual table. They wove through tables and people to the corner where Harry and Ron, along with Parvati, Neville and Luna were already seated. "Sorry we're late," Ginny said, taking her seat next to Harry and kissing his cheek.

Harry and Ron were still in their Auror's garb, having come straight from work. Ron looked up from his conversation with Parvati and his eyes widened slightly at Hermione's appearance. She saw him swallow hard and she felt a small surge of satisfaction. She plastered on a smile and greeted the table collectively. She sat with her back to the door, wedged between Ginny and Luna. "So, Hermione…how is the Vampire Comfort Act coming along?" Harry asked politely, waving a waitress over.

Hermione took a deep breath, ready to launch into a spiel about her new legislation proposal when she was cut off by a deep masculine voice behind her. "I'm sure it's going splendidly, but let's talk of something a little more _interesting_ , shall we? And I've got the drinks covered, Maria," came the annoyingly familiar drawl as he dismissed the waitress.

Draco Malfoy pulled up a chair, sitting backward on it with his legs draped over either side, his arms resting on the back as he levitated a large tray of drinks directly into the center. Theo Nott saddled up between Ron and Neville, throwing an arm around the latter and kissing his temple exaggeratedly. "You didn't tell me _they_ were going to be here," Hermione said accusatorily.

"Oh, come now, Granger. You didn't really think we were going to miss Potty's birthday, did you?" Malfoy said, levitating drinks to each person.

"It's not every day the Chosen One turns twenty-five," Theo agreed, downing his shot quickly before taking the bottle of firewhiskey and refilling it.

Ginny shot her an apologetic look and Hermione sipped at her firewhiskey, sulking. There were so many inviting books on her shelves beckoning to be read and here she sat with her ex and his new fling, and two individuals who typically were polite enough, true. But Theo had a streak in him, similar to Ginny's, and their nights never ended in a normal manner. Most of the time it required they leave by floo, because his drinking games always turned raucous and everyone was too drunk to Apparate safely. And Hermione, sober and trying to keep them all in line.

"To Harry, Savior of the Wizarding World and the greatest Seeker not playing professional Quidditch in all of England," Ginny raised her glass with a laugh while Harry rolled his eyes, grinning.

They all toasted him, Malfoy rolling his eyes, and drank. Hermione continued to sip the alcohol slowly. She felt his steel colored eyes on her, but she refused to glance in his direction, instead turning her attention to where Harry was telling the story of how they'd captured a particularly crafty illegal thestral breeder.

The evening progressed pleasantly enough, each offering something to the conversation. Hermione thought they'd gotten off scot free with regards to Theo's antics, when he finally ordered another round and announced they'd be playing "Most Likely." Hermione groaned and Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"What's the matter, Granger? Afraid you can't hold your liquor?" he challenged.

Hermione snorted. "Oh, please. I could drink you under the table. But _someone_ needs to maintain some sobriety to ensure everyone else makes it home safely."

"Yes, and I've noticed you are _always_ that someone," he replied, shrugging in his haughty, agitating way.

Luna chimed in. "I feel perfectly fine, Hermione. Why don't you go ahead and let loose?" the blonde asked, her eyes still wide and demure as ever.

Hermione opened her mouth to argue but Malfoy beat her to it. "She's afraid."

She glared at him and sat back in her chair. "Fine, I'll challenge you to a little one-one-one, then. Theo, go get two frosted steins of Merlin's Finest Mead."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her as Theo did as he was told with a huge grin. Theo returned and handed one to each of them. "Okay, and what will the stakes be? What will the winner receive…or the loser have to do?" Malfoy asked, pulling his cold stein closer, running a finger over the rim.

"How about first to get to the bottom loses five galleons," she suggested.

Ginny gave a loud, exaggerated yawn. _"Boring._ Malfoy is insanely rich. What is five galleons?"

Ron huffed at that and Malfoy smirked at him, getting ready to spit an insult at him, no doubt. "I couldn't agree more," Theo cut in. "I say the loser has to give the winner a little strip tease."

Hermione shot a look at Theo as Ginny squealed with glee. Malfoy's smirk deepened even more as ran a hand through his hair. "I have to say, I enjoy those terms far more."

"Oh…you're going to eat those words," Ginny told him.

"You don't have to go through with that Hermione," Ron butt in and Parvati raised an eyebrow at him.

He sat back and shrugged. "That's awfully…risqué for two people who can barely tolerate each other, that's all I'm saying."

Hermione felt the urge to curse Ron out and instead turned her attention back to Malfoy. "I'll do it."

Theo and Ginny sported twin evil grins, Harry was watching in mild amusement, Neville and Ron looked on in horror and Luna and Parvati smiled knowingly. Malfoy's shit-eating grin spread further and he tapped his chin in pretend thought. "Hmmm…what kind of knickers would the Golden Girl wear under that dress? Something sensible? Cotton? Or maybe you've got a wild streak? Lacy little things? Suppose I'll find out soon enough…"

"Malfoy," Ron's voice warned.

"Stifle yourself, Weasley. Hermione is a big girl," Theo shot at the redhead.

"Come on, then. Let's do this," Hermione encouraged, feeling adrenaline rise in her at the mere prospect of her losing…or winning.

"Eager, are we?" Malfoy laughed.

"Oh, buddy… you're done for," Harry said, clapping a hand on the blond's shoulder.

"Not likely," he scoffed.

"On the count of three, then. One…" Hermione said, lifting the stein into her hand and looping her hand through the handle for better grip.

"Two…" Malfoy winked at her…the smug bastard.

"Three!"

The two raised the glasses to their lips and began chugging as fast as they could. The mead was thick and sweet and felt much better than shooting firewhiskey. They were keeping pretty well close when Ginny leaned across the table toward Malfoy. "Oh, and Draco, dear? _She's not wearing any knickers!_ "

Though Hermione felt her cheeks flush, she didn't break contact with her drink. Malfoy, on the other hand, choked and coughed, slamming his half-finished drink to the table as he caught his breath. His face was a bright pink, all the way to the tips of his ears as he raised his glass to continue. It was pointless by this time, Hermione set her empty stein down pleasantly and smiled widely.

He finished his drink in two swallows and huffed. "That was cheating," he pouted.

"It was Hermione's knickers called into question and she managed to maintain her composure," Ginny shrugged, grinning wickedly.

"Red's right, mate. Granger won that one," Theo said, not even attempting to hide the amusement at his friend's predicament.

Malfoy crossed his arms, a sulking pout on his face. "Fine. When would you like to claim your prize?" he clearly did not believe she ever would.

"You're hardly a prize," Ron snorted, taking a sip of his drink.

"There's no time like the present," Hermione replied, the alcohol creating a courageous warmth within her.

Shock registered on his face momentarily, and then Malfoy put on a brave front. "Okay, then. Let's go."

Hermione hadn't expected him to comply so easily. Each of them had called the other's bluff. _Shit_. She couldn't back down now. "Let's," she said, standing from the table and raising her chin arrogantly.

"'Mione," Ron said, shooting her a look of incredulity.

"Hermione…this is hardly necessary. It was all in fun," Harry interjected, realizing that both individuals were seriously going to go through with the bet.

"A bet is a bet, Potter," Theo said, sitting back in his chair and smirking.

Hermione had yet to break eye contact with Malfoy, who was pulling on his cloak. "That's right, Potter. And I'm not one to back down from a bet."

"And I'm the winner in this situation…this night's not going to be embarrassing _for me_ ," she said, handing Harry the present she'd brought for him—a book on Advanced Defensive Spells.

She ruffled Harry's messy hair and kissed Ginny's cheek. "Tell me _everything_. Every. Single. Detail," Ginny whispered to her.

Hermione rolled her eyes and waved to the others. Malfoy leaned down over Theo's shoulder. "I'm going to kill you, Nott. Better start looking at caskets," he whispered threateningly.

Theo let out a barking laugh and raised his glass. "Have fun," he said, giving Hermione a wink.

She and Malfoy left the pub and stepped out into the warm summer night. "We don't have to do this if it will make you uncomfortable," Malfoy said, grabbing her arm to turn her to face him.

Hermione pursed her lips in mock irritation. "I'm not the one stripping, remember? Unless this makes _you_ uncomfortable."

He scoffed. "Not hardly. I _know_ I'm aesthetically pleasing."

"Let's get on with it then," she told him and he Apparated them to his home.

His home was not as pretentious or large as she would have guessed. It was a moderately sized flat, decorated in a masculine bachelor way—black leather couches around dark wood tables; silver and emerald throw pillows; a few trinkets but overall tidy and kempt. He had shelves of books lining two of the walls. Hermione made her way toward the nearest shelf as he made his way to the wet bar by the window.

"Want a drink?" he asked cordially, ever the picture of aristocratic upbringing.

"Honestly…just a plain butterbeer. I've had enough to drink for one night," she called, running her fingers along the edges of books.

She was surprised to find such a wide variety of books on his shelves, even some Muggle novels. "You're no fun," he replied, coming to stand next to her and handing her a chilled bottle.

"I think I proved otherwise this evening," she remarked, turning to face him.

"And yet, _I'm_ the one who has to undress," he said, pulling off his cloak.

"Now?" she asked, trying to mask the thrill in her tone.

"There's no time like the present," he used her own words against her with a smug smile.

"Oh," she shifted on her feet and averted her eyes. "No lead up then."

"What kind of lead up did you want?" he asked with a laugh.

She shrugged, unsure of what to do now that she found herself in this situation. Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "You okay with this?"

Hermione put on her best brave face. "Of course. Shall I…sit?" she said, gesturing to the empty sofa.

He nodded. "Sure."

She sat and straightened her dress absently. "Nervous, Granger?" he quipped, knocking back a single finger of bourbon.

"Not hardly," she retorted.

"Well, why don't you sit back. Relax. Don't look so stiff…that's my job," he laughed at her widened eyes.

Hermione sat back into the couch and kicked off her heels. She raised both feet and placed them on the edge of his coffee table. He eyed them with mild irritation but said nothing as he gestured toward the Muggle radio. "Mood music?" he asked.

"Well…it would certainly make it easier for you," she supplied.

Malfoy grunted and turned the knobs on the radio. "There! Stop there!" Hermione called.

He turned and raised an eyebrow. _"I was like, good gracious, ass is bodacious…"_

"Really, Granger?" he laughed and shrugged.

She waved her hand for him to begin, her heart thrumming wildly in her chest. He took a swig of bourbon straight from the crystal decanter. "Ah, fuck. Here goes nothing," he mumbled and he turned around, stalking to the center of the room.

He began pulling his jacket off, his movements matter-of-fact. Hermione smirked at him. "Ah ah ah," she tutted, "you have to _dance_. _Feel_ the music."

Malfoy glared at her and sighed impatiently, an attractive pink rising on his cheeks as he began moving his shoulders to the beat of the music. Hermione sat back into the sofa, slouched and feigning relaxation as she bit the tip of one finger, trying to hide her smirk. He was just as nervous as she, for all the pomp he talked. He had his suit coat off and tossed over the back of his oversized armchair. _"It's gettin' hot in here, so hot, so take off all your clothes…"_

He shook his head as he loosened his tie. "I'm going to eviscerate Theodore Nott."

Hermione laughed. "You're doing brilliantly. But you may want to match your movements to the music. Just _let go_ ," she coached, the mead she'd drank still swimming in her head pleasantly.

Malfoy clenched his jaw and nodded once. "Feel the music. Right," he said, more to himself as he began bobbing a little more in time with the music.

He pulled his tie from his collar and Hermione cat-called, trying to boost his confidence and alleviate his embarrassment. He smiled wider and danced to where she sat, wrapping his tie around her shoulders when she leaned forward. _''Cause I feel like bustin' loose, and I feel like touchin' you…"_ Malfoy grimaced at the lyrics as he untucked his shirt.

His fingers were nimble, despite his nerves and he unbuttoned his shirt swiftly. Hermione was still staring at him, taking in the sight of him as he shimmed out of his shirt and let it fall to the floor. She had flirted with the idea that he was attractive on more than one occasion, but his arrogant attitude kept her from pursuing anything more than a nod in the corridors at the Ministry. But now, as she watched him lower his arrogant façade, dancing bashfully as he unbuckled his belt, she licked her lips. He was _definitely_ attractive.

He caught sight of his Dark Mark as he tore the belt from its loops and winced, trying to tuck it into himself as he unbuttoned his pants. _"I am getting so hot, I wanna take my clothes off…"_ Hermione didn't care much about the Mark—in spite of his attitude, he had proven himself time and again worthy of redemption through his work.

She wolf-whistled as he toed his shoes and pulled his socks off. "This is awfully one-sided, Granger," he growled.

"Put your hips into it!" she called, mildly embarrassed by the innuendo.

He raised an eyebrow and grinned, shaking his head as he made subtle hip thrusting movements. He slid his pants down over his slender hips and his legs were exposed as he stepped out of them. Hermione caught sight of scars marring his thighs and the thought crossed her that she wanted to _kiss_ every one of them. She made to cross her right leg over her left and in the process, he caught a glimpse of her knickers. He bit his lip as he pulled the plain white t-shirt from his body and tossed it in her direction as she giggled.

The smell of his cologne as the shirt hit her face sent little shivers of delight through her. She grabbed it in her fist as the song finished and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, I hope you enjoyed the show," he said with a smirk, clearly relieved that it was over.

Hermione looked over his slender frame, the tight muscles across his chest, abdomen and arms. Not bulky, but he clearly took care of himself. He had light blond hair across his chest and leading into the band of his green silk boxers. His arms were still crossed and she clearly see the outline of what remained hidden beneath the thin fabric. She was unsure of what had come over her, but she wanted him. Then and there. "Most strip teases end in nakedness," she remarked, swallowing hard as she looked at him in obvious arousal.

Malfoy let out a booming laugh and dropped his hands to his sides. "No, no, Granger. That's to be left to the imagination."

"That's too bad," she mumbled, her mouth speaking before her brain had time to comprehend in its tipsy fog.

Malfoy quirked an eyebrow and the left side of his lip went up in a half-smile, looking slightly unsure of what was transpiring. He slowly ambled to where she sat and she dropped her feet from the coffee table to the floor instinctively. He leaned over her, putting his knee on the couch between hers, his hands on either side of her head. "I never took you for a red lace girl…very nice…" he whispered in her ear and she felt his breath tickle the stray curls Ginny had framed her face with.

Hermione dropped the shirt she was still clutching and brought her hands up to his chest as he pulled back some. He tossed his tie aside, the silky feel of it brushing her skin making her bit her lip. Malfoy lifted a hand to her hair and wandlessly unstuck it from where it was pinned. It tumbled out and the curls cascaded all around her. "Better," he murmured and he brought his lips to hers.

Hermione couldn't think initially. The warmth from the alcohol had faded completely and she was sobered in the blink of an eye. She was kissing Malfoy. Or rather, _Malfoy was kissing her_. She had yet to respond and he pulled back, uncertain. "I'm sorry, I just thought—"

She grabbed him at the nape of his neck and pulled him back to her face. She was the one to trace his lip with the tip of her tongue and he smiled into her mouth as he opened his. He brought his hands up and tucked them under her hair, resting on either side of her jaw. Malfoy was still leaning between her legs and she could feel him pressing firmly into her thigh as she ran her fingernails up into the soft hair at the back of his head.

It crossed her mind that he must have only been embarrassed whilst stripping because there was nothing to distract her wandering eyes. There was no shame in the way he was fervently kissing her, grinding his hips sinuously into her. He pulled away and looked down between them, running one hand down to toy with the hem of her dress. He brought his mouth to her neck and she felt him gently nipping and sucking at her flesh, drawing blood to just below the surface.

The feeling made her shift below him and he pulled back. Malfoy ran one fingertip below the top of her dress, tracing the swell of one breast. "Again, Granger…this is awfully one-sided."

"Then make us even," Hermione said, leaning forward.

He made a growl at the back of his throat. _"Gladly."_

He pulled the strings at the back of her neck and ran his palm from the back of her neck, down her collar and down over her breast, which he was pleased to find bare beneath the dress. Malfoy removed his leg from between hers and stood. "Lie back."

Hermione turned her body and put her head on the arm of the couch, the cool leather a stark contrast to her heated back. Malfoy leaned over her leg, one foot still on the floor and tugged at her dress. She lifted her hips and he pulled it swiftly down and tossed it aside before climbing onto the couch. He placed a knee between her thighs, spreading them so he could settle between them. He ran one finger over the red lace and her hips rose to meet his fluttering touch, her eyes closed. "Very nice, indeed."

He lowered himself over her and rested with one hand on the couch arm by her head as he played with one of her curls. He seemed to be studying her face for a moment and she ran her hands over his back in the moment of quiet anticipation. He went from hovering over her to lying, his chest against hers, their skin brushing in a way that had gooseflesh raising over her skin. He kissed across her collarbone, nipping here and there.

Malfoy licked the hollow of her neck and then took a moment to breathe lightly over the wet spot, sending waves through her as she thought of the other places he could possibly do that to. As he kissed her once more, she wrapped one leg around his arse and pulled him closer, pressing her hips up into him. He broke the kiss with a groan of approval.

She slid her hands under the silk of his boxers and ran them down to his knees and he maneuvered them off completely. Hermione looked down between them and her nails dug into his biceps. A naked Draco Malfoy was quite the sight to behold. "Like what you see?" he teased.

"Very nice, indeed," she echoed his earlier words, arching into him once more.

" _Fuck,"_ he swore under his breath, and she heard the red lace rip as she felt a swift tug to her knickers.

Hermione didn't even have time to be indignant over her clothing as he laid his hands on her. One hand played her with deft, skilled fingers while he ran the other over every inch of skin he could reach. Slowly, sinuously. Her eyes closed instinctively, the sensations he brought to her sensitive body wracking through her.

Malfoy leaned down and kissed up and along the center of her abdomen. She had the presence of mind to wandlessly cast a contraceptive charm, though after she'd done that she lost any and all ability to think of anything but the way he made her feel. He kissed along one breast and across the dip between before biting the soft swell of the other. Hermione moaned and tugged his hair, trying to pull him closer to herself, his hand still stroking her between them.

She swore under her breath as her legs began to tremor lightly. Malfoy licked the spot he'd just bitten, raising his eyes to look up at her face. She was still clenching her eyes and he planted a kiss between her breasts as her chest started to heave, her release so close but still too far.

"Do you like the way I touch you, Granger?" he whispered, holding himself over her.

She hummed incoherently in response. "Say it," he commanded.

"I like it," she mumbled, feeling shaky.

"Like _what?_ " he asked, leaning back and bringing his hand over her hip and clutching one supple arse cheek as his other continued to bring her to ruin.

"The way you," he lifted her hips and pulled her toward himself, "make…make me…" he poised himself and she put a hand to her forehead as she tried to formulate a single sentence.

"That way I make you what?" he tried to drag out of her.

She could feel him brushing against her and the feel was driving her to madness. _"Feel,"_ she finally settled on spitting between clenched teeth.

Malfoy thrust forward, hissing as he did and she let out a satisfied, deep _"Oh!"_

He was still for a beat, closing his own eyes and biting his lip before he began a slow tempo. His fingers began their work once more and after a few rolls of his hips, he felt her legs tighten around him. She let out a sexy series of pants and a deep moan as she found release and her fingernails dug into his forearms.

Malfoy watched her, his lips parted slightly as he did, a look of near-awe gracing his features. She finally opened her eyes when he ran a hand over her stomach to rest on her ribcage. _"More,"_ she commanded, and he smirked to himself.

He pressed himself into her fully and slid his hands over her thighs to her calves and he gave them gentle nudges, indicating he wanted her to wrap her legs around his waist. She leaned up on her palms, her back arched into his touch, their chests brushing. Her hair fell over her back and became steadily wilder the more steam and heat was created between them.

When she began to roll her hips to meet his, he groaned in appreciation and dug his fingertips into the flesh of her arse. _"Just…like…that…"_ she breathed.

The sounds she was making was causing him to lose control. And she was grinding her body against his in a way that made him weak. He placed a firm hand between her shoulder blades, helping to brace her as he skimmed his nose over her neck. He kissed and sucked, the salty taste of her slick flesh mixing with a vanilla accented flavor that was distinctly _Granger_. Her breathing was becoming steadily more ragged and he put his hand between them once more as she shook around him.

" _Fuck, Malfoy,"_ she breathed.

Her pants and mewls were more than he could handle, and he buried his face into the crook of her neck, planting kisses on her skin between shallow breaths, his entire body pulsing. He could feel his heart beating in his chin and he let out a breathy laugh against her skin, wrapping his arms around her back and pulling her to rest fully on his thighs. She chuckled as well and wrapped one arm around his shoulders and brought her other hand around to his face and pushed his sweaty hair away from his forehead.

Neither moved or spoke as their breathing slowed, still wrapped around one another. Hermione was the first to move. She planted a kiss on his lips and then pulled herself away from him, already hating the hollowness she felt at the loss of his body heat.

She grabbed her dress and made her way to the bathroom to clean herself up. When she looked at herself, she nearly gasped. There were a few love bites and her hair was a wild mane of curls. Her eyes were glazed over and she wore a stupid grin, thoroughly sated. But most importantly, she looked _happy_. Genuinely happy, for the first time in months.

When she left the bathroom, she found Malfoy, sitting in his trousers and undershirt, his hair a mess and the same stupid look on his face as he put his head back against the couch. "You sure you don't want to stay?" he asked, not opening his eyes.

"No…I think I'd better get going. Make sure our friends haven't, you know… _died_ of alcohol poisoning."

Malfoy rose from the couch as she slipped into her shoes. "I had fun tonight, Granger."

She fought a smile, not wanting him to see exactly how much she'd enjoyed their night. "I did, too."

He pulled his cloak around her shoulders and placed his hands on her shoulders, leaning in to place a chaste kiss on her cheek. He hesitated for a moment and she felt him smile. "When you return my cloak, it's your turn to do a little strip tease for me."

o-o-o

**Feeling Good**

Hermione entered the Three Broomsticks, thinking of the encounter she'd just had with _Draco Malfoy_. A one-night stand. She'd had _sex_ with _Draco fucking Malfoy_. And it was bloody amazing. She was knickerless at the moment, her body still trembling and aching with wanton desire and the aftermath of being properly sated. Her brain was still too muddled to think about the fact that she'd left her red, lacy and very torn knickers on his living room floor somewhere.

She made her way back to the table where their friends were still sitting, looking significantly more inebriated than when she and Malfoy had left. Ginny was the first to see her, and her eyes grew wide as she elbowed Harry. " _Holy fucking shit!_ What the hell have you been doing?" she asked, entirely too loudly.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Hermione huffed, pushing her wild curly locks away from her heated face.

Ron was looking at her with disgusted disbelief. Parvati had apparently taken her leave and Ron had taken to drowning his sorrows. "Have you been…" he was at a loss for words.

"Shagging Draco Malfoy blind?" Theo supplied, a sly grin across his face.

"You're positively glowing, Hermione," Luna told her as Neville squirmed uncomfortably.

"'Mione…how much did you drink?" Harry asked, an eyebrow raised.

" _Will everyone just shut up?"_ Hermione bellowed over the din. "I had a perfectly lovely evening. Now, I came back to make sure you all got home safely."

"You _fucked_ Malfoy?" Ron finally found his voice.

She opened her mouth to reply, but Ginny beat her to it. "Actually, it looks like _he_ fucked _her_."

Hermione, even in her frustration, couldn't help the little grin tugging at her lips. Ginny and Theo both wore matching, satisfied grins. Harry looked bewildered. Luna was smiling pleasantly. Neville looked like he wanted to hide under a rock. And Ron was glaring at her. "I've never seen you look so…"

"Satisfied?" Theo supplied.

"Perhaps that's because Malfoy actually knows how to find that sweet spot," Ginny retorted, hushing Ron for good as his ears turned fiery red. "'Mione, retrieve my handbag—we need to go to the bathroom."

"Ah, yes. And now they'll go and gush over how wonderful he is with his prick and how madly in love with him she is now," Theo said, swigging his drink. "Just a pity Malfoy isn't here to regale us with his side of the story."

"Hey, hey…that's my damn-near sister you're talking about," Harry said, raising a glass in salute to him in clear opposition of his words.

Hermione could feel her face burn as she helped a wobbly Ginny to her feet. Luna stood as well, putting a hand on Neville's shoulder. The three went to the restroom and Ginny gestured to her bag. "Get my emergency pepper-up. I need to be sober for this," she instructed.

Hermione rolled her eyes and retrieved a small vial from the bag. Ginny swallowed it in one go, wincing at the burn the pepper left in her throat. Her glazed eyes came more into focus and she took a deep breath. "I'll have to remember to brew another batch of that," she turned her focus to Hermione. "So?"

"So what?" Hermione asked, leaning back against the sink and looking at her nails.

"Don't you give me that! I want details. _Every. Tiny. Detail._ Or large detail," she said with a wink.

Hermione was not used to speaking of such intimacies with anyone—then again, her former sexual partner had been Ginny's brother. Should she speak of it? It didn't mean much to either of them, did it? A one-time deal? Where was the harm in telling Ginny and Luna? Neither of them would ever say anything to anyone else. "Well, what do you want to know?"

"How big is it?" Ginny asked, while Luna settled on, "How did this happen?"

Hermione smirked slyly at Ginny and held her hands up to indicate. Ginny raised an eyebrow. "And?" she asked, and Hermione curved her fingers into a broken 'o' to indicate the other half of the equation. The redhead pretended to fall out against the sinks. "Sweet _Merlin_. All those stories in Hogwarts—they were all true!"

The brunette smirked. "Better. And…I don't really know how it happened, Luna. One minute he was taking his clothes off, the next he was taking mine off…"

Ginny, ever the eager one, chimed in. " _Every. Single. Detail."_

o-o-o

Draco sat at his desk on Wednesday afternoon, tossing a toy snitch into the air. He hadn't been able to get his encounter with Granger out of his head no matter how he'd tried. Her soft, supple curves. The pretty way her curls framed her face. The sweet expression on her face as she found a release brought on by his hands. The memory of it was driving him wild.

He hadn't seen her yet around the Ministry, though that was hardly unusual—they worked in two totally different departments on two totally different floors. Her absence was driving him even further into madness. He drummed his fingers on the desk as he once again thought of the salty sweetness of her neck. He slammed his palm against the desktop and retrieved a slip of parchment.

_I'd like my cloak back sometime_ _this millennia._

_How about Saturday? My flat. Six o'clock?_

_D.M._

Straight to the point, unsuspecting in case the letter got intercepted. But he knew she would know exactly what he meant. He tapped his wand against the parchment and it folded itself into a bird and flapped its way to the fourth floor. Satisfied with himself, he grabbed his coat and strode down to lunch, a little more pep in his step.

…..

When Draco returned from lunch with Theo Nott, his cloak was neatly draped over the back of his chair. He tried not to let the stinging rejection sway him at all. He had fun that evening, and he thought she had. But perhaps he was mistaken? He plopped unceremoniously into his chair and ran a hand through his hair. Fucking Granger. He just _had_ to have a taste of her forbidden fruit.

…..

Saturday evening, Draco was just getting ready to head out for dinner with Theo and the Greengrass sisters. He checked his appearance one more time in the mirror and sighed. He grabbed a handful of floo powder when there was a soft knock at his door. He nearly groaned—it was probably his mother, who had taken to coming to his door now that he was an adult and could be entertaining ladies. Just what he needed—for his mother to find out he was headed to dinner with Astoria Greengrass.

He tossed the powder back into its bag and opened the door, a fake smile plastered on his face as he got ready to greet his mother. Instead, a real smile spread over his face. Hermione Granger was standing in the corridor outside of his flat, looking entirely unsure of herself, her bottom lip between her teeth. "Oh, good. You are here…I didn't know if you would have made other plans," she said quietly, seeming to stumble through her words.

"I _did_ have other plans, since my Saturday night date so rudely blew me off and returned my cloak three days ago," he replied, stepping out of the doorway to allow her to pass.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I can go," she gestured toward the door.

Draco raised an eyebrow and removed his suitcoat and draped it over the back of his couch. "Stay. You want a drink?" he asked, moving to make himself a tumbler of firewhiskey.

"Same," she said, gesturing to his glass.

He handed her the drink and took a sip from his, eyeing her over the rim of his glass, a hunger building with him. "So, have you come to return the favor?" he asked playfully, taking in her clothing for the first time.

She was wearing a coat, despite the heat of August. She bit her lip once more and he reached over and untucked it. "Bite your lip like that again and I will bend you over the back of the couch."

Granger's eyes grew wide and then she smirked. She fucking _smirked_ at him. "Don't you want to see what I'm wearing before you do that?"

Draco could feel the desire welling up within him and he took her hand. "In the bedroom this time," he said, lifting her hand to his lips to kiss each knuckle in turn.

They entered his room and Granger's eyes wandered for a moment before settling on his bed. His bed was his favorite thing in the entire house—massive and tall, the top of the mattress was nearly up to her waist. The headboard, footboard and posts were all made of mahogany and were intricately carved with twisting vines. The bedding, black and made of the finest cotton, was soft to the touch and inviting. She ran her hand over the bedspread and smiled. "How shall we do this?" she asked.

Draco smirked at her innocent ways. She clearly wasn't much on casual sex. He strode the few feet to where she stood and bent to kiss her. She made a surprised sound at the back of her throat and then wound her hands into his hair. The innocence she had combined with the fact that she clearly knew what she wanted excited him more than anything. Her kissing was sweet, tender to begin with, but he knew he could have her fiery and passionate in no time at all.

He pulled the belt of her coat apart and then quickly unfastened the buttons, pulling the garment down her shoulders. She let it fall to their feet but then pushed his chest back with one finger, breaking their kiss with a shy smile on her face. Draco took the time to look down at her and let out a low growl at the back of his throat.

Granger was wearing a well-tailored suit, something she normally would not have actually worn to work for fear of being immodest. Under the blazer was a black lace tank top, the tops of her breasts swelling out tantalizingly. Black heels adorned her feet. "Everyone always tells me how I dress like a librarian. So, I decided to show you exactly how _studious_ I can be. I think you'll find that I enjoy learning new things, and I'm a _quick_ learner," she said, her voice confident but her hand shaking as she pushed him back to sit on his bed.

_Oh, fuck._ This witch was going to bring him to ruin. He waved his hand at the stereo and smirked as she raised an eyebrow. "Well…this is decidedly less… _dancy_ than your song was," she told him, a slight pout on her lips.

"Precisely why I chose it. I want to watch you _slowly_ undress. Unwrapping every square inch of yourself like a gift for me," Draco bit the corner of his lip and took in a sharp inhale of breath.

" _It's a new dawn. It's a new day. It's a new life. For me, and I'm feeling good…"_ Michael Buble's sultry voice and the slow, sexy instrumentals reverberated around his room as she backed up and he leaned back on his palms to watch her.

A pretty blush crept up her chest and over her face and she put her hands up to pull the clip from her hair. She tossed it aside and ran two hands through her hair, creating the voluminous mass of curls he couldn't keep from tangling his hands in last time they were together. She hesitated for a moment, biting her lip once more, her hands shaking as she undid the button of her jacket. She ran her hands over the lapels, holding it closed in hesitation. "Go on, love. Let me see what you're hiding under there," he told her, trying just as she had to boost her confidence.

Granger smiled slightly and pulled the jacket from her shoulders and it met her coat and clip on the floor. It took everything he had not to bend her over his bed and pull that pencil skirt up over her hips right then. She may dress conservatively at work, but she was sexy as hell when she was donning a slinky black lace shirt and form-fitting skirt. "Fuck. Perhaps you should have taken Madam Pince's place at Hogwarts. Perhaps I would have spent more time in the library," he told her, loosening his tie and tossing it aside.

He slipped his cufflinks out and tossed them on his nightstand before he leaned back. "The instrumentals to this song do allow for some sexy, winding movements," he teased.

Granger smile slightly, knowing she had made him dance and now it was her turn. "I'll need for you to unzip my shirt," she told him, turning around and pointing down at her zipper as she looked over her shoulder at him.

" _Dragonfly out in the sun, you know what I mean, don't you know…"_

Draco swept her curls to the side and slowly pulled the zipper of that infernal lacy top down, taking a moment to run his bare knuckles over her exposed back. "Ah ah. No touching yet," she told him and she went a few paces to undress once more.

Dancing seemed to be what set her on edge, spiked her nerves. She moved her shoulders some and slowly pulled the top away to reveal a Slytherin green bra, with black lace over the silky green. Fuck. Who knew the little lioness would look so good in his former house colors? "Put your hips into it, love. _Feel the music_ ," he encouraged, using her own sentiments against her.

Granger shook her head, a smile playing at her lips. "I'm going to murder you, I swear."

"Can it wait until _after_ the sex?" he teased before he lost his train of thought.

Put her hips into it is exactly what she did. Draco watched as Granger moved her hips in a sinuous slow circular motion, getting lower with each swipe of her hips. She moved her hands to unzip her skirt and then slid her hands in and ran them along her thighs to pull the fabric down before she kicked the skirt away from herself. Her knickers matched the bra and he groaned in appreciation as he took in the sight of her in lingerie and heels, her hair wild around her. She continued her winding movements, almost serpentine, and lifted her hair up and dropped it once more, giving him a shy and embarrassed smile. He ran a palm over the bulge in his pants, trying to alleviate some of the pressure before she put her hands behind her back to unclasp the bra.

"Leave it," he said and he leaned forward and grabbed her by the front of her knickers, pulling her to himself. He couldn't keep his hands to himself a moment longer. _"I'm feeling so good. I feel so good."_ The song ended, but neither cared as the next started. Draco put his hands under the band of her lacy see-through knickers, sliding them from her hips and down over her rear.

Granger was only slightly taller than he as he sat on the edge of his bed, and she leaned down and brought her lips to his forcefully. Draco, his hands over the round swell of her arse, pulled her hips closer to his, pushing her against himself. She dragged her nails through the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling softly before she dragged her hands over his shoulders and down to unbutton his shirt. She was positively vibrating, with nerves or anticipation he didn't know.

She pushed the shirt over his shoulders and he pulled it off quickly before she ran her nails up and over his sides, dragging his undershirt with her. It came off quickly, their kiss only breaking to pull it up over his head. He toed off his shoes and socks, kicking them away from them. Granger tried to step out of her heels, but he tightened his grip on her, letting her know not to. She smiled into his mouth and made quick work of his belt buckle and pants zipper.

Draco broke the kiss from her lips to drag his mouth down her neck, chest and over to the swell of her left breast. He ran the tip of his tongue where the fabric of the bra ended and her skin began and she made a quiet mewl at the back of her throat, threading her fingers into his hair and pulling slightly once more. He kissed down the center of her chest to the top of her abdomen, whispering a contraceptive charm between nips. She pulled his hair forcefully as he slid her knickers down half way, dragging his hand back up the inside of the thigh opposite his hand. She subconsciously stepped a little wider in anticipation and he smirked against the skin of her ribcage, just below her breast. He ran his hand back down, teasing her and she let out an impatient growl.

She opened her eyes and looked down at him, pulling his head back with a hand on the nape of his neck as she kicked out of her underwear. There was a fire smoldering in the gold flecks of her eyes and she leaned forward over him, her tongue parting his lips forcefully. He leaned back on one hand and brought his other up and under her hair, his fingers tangling pleasantly into her curls. Granger was growing impatient and put her fingertips under the band of his pants and boxers, pulling them down when he lifted his hips.

She leaned over him once more, the soft apex of her thighs teasing his exposed length. He hissed a breath of air out as she kissed his neck, down the center of his sternum, straight down his abdomen. Her curls tickled at his sensitive skin, her breasts brushing against him, causing him to arch his hips into where she moved above him. She bit his hip in response and he tightened his grip in her hair. And the fucking minx, she looked him straight in the eye as she ran her tongue from his navel to tip.

"Lay back against the pillows," she instructed, her voice thick and sultry with lust.

She stood and pulled her hair up, holding it into a high knot as she watched him crawl backward and settle into the pillows. Draco was used to being the one instructing, but there was something in her bossy tone, the way she was looking at him as though there was nothing else in the world she wanted more than he. He wanted her to take charge.

She kicked off her shoes, mumbling about accidentally stabbing him and crawled onto the bed, slowly making her way up him with kisses, before she placed one knee on either side of his hips. He ran his hands up over her thighs, to her waist. She hovered above him, brushing against him sinfully. There was no doubt she was every bit as turned on as he and he could feel himself nearly shaking with anticipation as well.

"Granger, you feel so bloody good. Please," he whispered through clenched teeth as he tried to concentrate on maintaining his cool.

"Please, _what?_ " she teasingly asked, moving her hovering hips enough to drive him mad.

"Either start riding, Granger, or I am taking control from here," he replied, closing his eyes and breathing through his mouth.

She let out a soft laugh and lowered herself onto him, a whimper of her own escaping. She felt so amazing, even as she held still for a brief moment, adjusting. He gave her thigh a gentle smack, encouraging her to begin moving. _"Fuck,"_ she said under her breath and it was precisely the word that described what he felt when she began rolling her hips over him.

Granger reached behind her back and unclasped the bra, leaving it on her shoulders as she leaned forward to place her hands on his shoulders to brace herself. He ran his hands up over her sides and ribs, pushing them up under the fabric of her bra, releasing her breasts. The garment slid down her arms and she lifted one hand at a time to toss it away. He brought his mouth to one breast and she let out a squeak, lifting one hand to hold onto his headboard as the sinuous, circular grinding motion of her hips increased in pace. He brought one hand to her, helping her along as the circular motion of his thumb matched that of her hips. She leaned up once more, pulling her breast away from his mouth with a _pop!_

"Keep doing that," she told him, looking down at him to brush the hair away from his face.

Draco looked up at the beauty above him, then over to the mirror atop his dresser. She followed his gaze and blushed when she saw herself. He ran a fingertip from his other hand over her jaw, down her neck and straight down her chest. "Don't be embarrassed. Look how gorgeous you are; watch what you're doing to me."

She glanced over toward the mirror, her arms in front of her grasping the headboard. His hands continued their work as he felt her begin to shake around him. "Open your eyes and watch yourself," he instructed and she did as told.

Granger let out a sensual, quiet moan and slowed her hips to a stop. He gave her a moment, running his hands slowly over her sides, hips, thighs. Her eyes were closed, her lips resting against the skin of her outstretched arm as her breathing slowed some. Draco, his patience wearing, bucked his hips upward once and she looked down at him. "I didn't forget you," she laughed, biting her lip as she leaned back, her hands on his knees.

The new angle brought a different sensation and he felt his toes curl as she moved. He moved his hips, their movements not in time but complimenting each other. His fingers were pressing roughly into her flesh, her nails digging into the sides of his legs. He looked down at where they were connected, watching their movements. He brushed one fingertip over her and she swatted his hand away. "Too…sense… _oh!_ " she couldn't formulate the word 'sensitive' as he pulled her hips harshly downward as he snapped his hips upward.

Her legs quaking once more, her hands clenching and unclenching his thighs, little aftershocks of her first orgasm rocked through her, preparing her for her second as he repeated the motion. A loud, deep groan left her lips as her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. He watched her as long as he could before the sensations of her legs clenching around him, her toes curling under his legs as she slowly rolled her hips became too much. His eyes closed and his hands held her in a crushing grip, a guttural moan of his own rippling through his chest. He brought his knees up and she leaned back against them, spent.

"Merlin's _fucking_ beard, Draco," she was able to breathe out.

He raised an eyebrow at her choice of words and laughed. "That was all you, doll."

Granger let out a pleased hum and leaned forward, bracing herself on one hand next to his head as she pushed the hair away from his sticky forehead. He lowered his legs and readjusted, already feeling cold without the warmth of her body. He ran his hands tenderly over the areas of her hips he had no doubt would be marked with his fingerprints soon enough. He did a wandless, wordless 'scourgify' and lifted one hand up to push her hair over her shoulder. He cupped her face and brought his own up. She lowered her lips to his in a sweet kiss, suckling at his bottom lip before pulling away. "I should go."

Granger made to leave and he held her still. "Why do you always want to run away so quickly?"

She furrowed her brow momentarily and then ran a single fingertip over his jaw. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you liked to _cuddle_ afterwards."

He let out a playful growl and pulled her down beside him, burying his face into her neck. "Damn straight."

Granger let out a laugh and draped a leg lazily over his, running her fingertips over his bare arm. He ran his palm over her side, planting sweet kisses along her neck and collarbone, his pace lulling and indolent as he basked in their post-sex haze. In that moment, he knew he had to have this regularly. "Granger?"

She hummed quietly at the back of her throat, running her fingertips over his ear to push his hair behind it. He leaned up, putting his head into his hand as he leaned up on his elbow. "I don't want you only on Saturday nights."

"I'm that good, huh?" she teased, a smile playing at her lips.

He groaned and dropped his head to her chest for a brief moment before looking back up at her.

She gave a gentle laugh. "You know, I'm free on Wednesdays as well."

"You fucking temptress, you'll be the death of me," he growled, kissing her once more as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer to himself.

o-o-o


	7. It Should Be Us

Draco Malfoy walked into the garden of the Manor with his betrothed's hand in the bend of his elbow. It was the evening his engagement to Astoria Greengrass was to be publicly announced to the world and a grand ball was being held in their honor. It had been three years since the War, and two since Draco had completed his eighth year at Hogwarts. He waited for Astoria to finish her schooling before actively pursuing a courtship with her, and in the last year, he'd begun to care deeply for the witch.

Astoria was the picture of a proper pureblooded upbringing—graceful, respectful, subservient, beautiful. Draco knew they were an attractive couple—she had dark, bouncy waves that framed a porcelain face, so delicate she looked as though she would shatter at the slightest of nudges. She'd fancied Draco throughout the entirety of school, he'd always known this. So, on that fateful warm June night exactly one year prior, he had decided to give in to her advancements.

They were in attendance at one of the Greengrasses fundraising galas. Draco had been bored out of his mind the entire night, wallowing in lonesome self-pity. That was until she whirled into the room, greeting guests and thanking everyone for their contributions. Ever the picture of the proper pureblood daughter. And she was beautiful—he'd never taken true notice of her before that evening. He'd been far too caught up in a witch he could never have.

That was the night Draco would claim his entire life had changed. He'd shot back a few fingers of cinnamon flavored liquid courage and marched right up to where she stood, watching other couples dance. He'd offered her his hand and they'd waltzed around the dance floor, fitting one another like something out of a whimsical fairy tale. Astoria had made polite conversation and laughed at all of his jokes, no matter how corny or flat they'd fallen.

They'd gone out to the gardens at Greengrass Manor, hidden in the rosebushes. Astoria had batted her eyelashes and stroked his ego. Draco had flirted and laid the charm on thick. One thing had led to another and they had ended up in a passionate kiss, full of promise and excitement. After that night, Draco had put the pureblooded, aristocratic charm into full gear. He'd sent her flowers, bought her the finest chocolates, taken her to the most expensive restaurants. And she had eaten it all from the palm of his hand. And, Merlin help him, Draco _craved_ that positive reinforcement.

In that year, Draco had fallen for the witch and she for him. But, even as he relished her company both on the streets and in the sheets, there was always something missing. Astoria was almost _too_ properly brought up. She lacked fire and passion about anything in life, stifling her opinions and instead referring to him on all matters that involved the two. They never argued, and while most people would say that it was a blessing, Draco craved a good, heated, sexually charged row on occasion.

Astoria was not stupid by any means, but her knowledge was limited to much of what they'd been taught in school and nothing beyond. Draco found that conversations with her would often fall flat and he'd have to carry it along on his own, all the while with her agreeing with everything he said.

And her beauty was almost _too_ perfect. There was never a single hair out of place. Even after they got done with a romp that left Draco glistening with sweat and Astoria breathing heavily, her hair looked as though it had just been styled by a team of ten witches. Her lip color was never smeared. Her cheeks never stained with a blush.

Draco knew that he should feel lucky to have Astoria Greengrass. He had played a role on the wrong side during much of the War. After, he'd fought hard and still continued to fight to repair his family's tarnished reputation. He was lucky _any_ witch wanted anything to do with him. And he did, feel lucky that is. Every time he entered a restaurant with Astoria on his arm, he felt a surge of pride that someone so classy and gorgeous would want anything to do with him.

Astoria also served to fill some of the void that _she_ had left in her wake after Hogwarts. She gave him unconditional love, listened to him drone on about his insecurities, and provided him with a feeling of safety that he had been lacking in the year between his graduation and hers.

As the couple made their way into their ball, Draco smiled down at his betrothed. She was the picture of perfection in a Slytherin emerald silk gown, mermaid shaped so that it hugged her shape in a flattering way before flaring from her knees down. Her brown eyes glittered up at him and he tried to fight the thought that they weren't the right shade of brown. Her engagement ring—a Malfoy family heirloom—glittered in the twinkling lights that hung all around the garden. He smiled widely and charmed his way around the party, greeting some of their guests and making polite conversation.

Draco truly cared for Astoria Greengrass, deeply and genuinely—much to even his surprise. But nothing would have prepared him for the punch to the gut he received when he caught sight of the specter that haunted his every dream. Walking out of the ballroom and into the warm night air was the last witch he ever expected to come into contact with again.

Hermione Granger was a vision. Her dress was plum, more conservative than Astoria's but all the while flattering to her hips and slight bust. The dress shimmered as she walked, a necklace catching the light and bringing his eyes to her face. She had her hair tied back in an elegant chignon, with a few wispy curls framing her face, a mauve lip color shaping her lips. Lips he'd had the pleasure of kissing once upon a time.

She was alone and looked uncertain about being there and Draco absently wondered who would be callous enough to invite his first love to the engagement party he shared with his second. He nearly screamed when he looked to where his mother was smirking in Hermione's direction. But he stayed silent, a lump in his throat making all speaking—and _breathing_ —impossible. She moved toward him and Astoria and he felt his betrothed stiffen next to him.

"Astoria, Draco. The party is lovely…the gardens are simply magical," Hermione commented, leaning first in to give a cheek to cheek kiss to Astoria.

She then moved to Draco, who, just as he had to every other witch in attendance, dipped his face and brushed his lips against her cheek. At just the slightest brush of their flesh, he was certain there was enough electricity generated to power all of muggle London. He could feel it crackle between them and wondered if Astoria could _see_ it. He moved away and placed a hand over Astoria's in his elbow. "Hermione. How lovely of you to attend this evening. It's been, what? Two years now? How have you been?"

Hermione gave him a small smile, and if he didn't know her so well, he would have mistaken it for genuine. But he knew her better than that. She was trying to mask her anxious disappointment. He didn't know why she was even there—surely she knew that her attendance would be painful for the both of them? "I've been well. Mostly working, you know?"

There was an awkward pause, wherein Draco surveyed the witch before him. Not her body—Merlin, how he _knew_ those curves, the taste of her, the feel of her. No. That was dangerous, especially in front of his wife-to-be. He studied her face. Hermione's eyes were shining with unspoken words and emotion and Draco recognized it—it was the same words and emotions he'd tried to suppress for so long. She looked a little older, wrinkles around her eyes—from laughing or crying he didn't know.

Astoria clucked her tongue. "Well, Hermione, it is lovely to see you. But we've got more guests arriving. Please, make yourself at home."

And with that, Draco allowed Astoria to pull him away from Hermione. Away from the witch who had captured his heart so long ago. The way his heart was beating, Draco was certain he was dying. There was no way a man could survive that many forceful heart palpitations in such rapid succession.

As they continued to greet guests, Draco's mouth moved almost mechanically. He was certain there were words falling from his lips, perhaps even coherent sentences if the laughs of his guests were anything to go by. But he could hear nothing over the ringing in his ears. When it came time to dance with Astoria, as the guests of honor in Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy's party, Draco led her into the Manor's newly remodeled ballroom.

They began a waltz, just as they had that first time the year prior. But Draco's steps were wrong, he was miscalculating the sweeps, ending in stepping on Astoria's feet. It seemed as though Hermione's eyes followed him all around, like those creepy muggle paintings she'd taken him to see in Paris nearly three Christmases ago. No matter which way he turned Astoria, Granger was watching him. Her face was everywhere, all at once.

Every fiber of his being was screaming. Once upon a time, he had truly and madly loved the witch that was watching him from the outskirts. If he were honest with himself, he hadn't ever stopped. Simply _coped_. Hermione had broken things off after their combined eighth year had ended. She hadn't wanted him to lose his inheritance on her behalf, knowing how important it was to his family to produce a pureblooded heir. He had argued, screamed, begged for her to reconsider—he didn't give a good god damn about money. She told him that she would be busy with her new apprenticeship within the Ministry. He cried and told her he'd wait up every night if he could only hold her. Finally, she told him she was still in love with Ron Weasley. And Draco had broken into a million little pieces, dropping to his knees in the middle of a side street in Hogsmeade where she'd insisted on meeting.

She hadn't returned any of Draco's correspondences for the six months after their break up. Their school-year love affair was over and they were to move on with their lives. Draco had spent months upon months wallowing in self-deprecation and depression. And then Astoria had come along and he'd taken to sweeping this new witch off her feet. A way to recover from the broken heart that barely beat within him some days.

Draco watched as Hermione stalked out of the ballroom just as the song was ending. He could feel his hands shaking and he knew that Astoria was certainly aware now that his focus was on someone entirely different. "Draco," Astoria's soft voice pulled him back to where they stood in the middle of the dance floor.

He looked down at her, a pain evident in his normally stony façade. Astoria raised a hand to his cheek and cupped it, running her thumb over his cheekbone. "Draco. I will not play second string chaser to someone else. If we are to marry, you need to be fully focused on me. And only me."

Draco felt a sharp pang in his chest. Was it possible for a heart to _actually_ break into two? Astoria was asking him to choose. And two hours ago, he would have said the raven-haired beauty all day long. Now, after seeing Hermione Granger in the flesh, he wasn't so certain. There had been static electricity between them. There was a history—both good and bad, cherished and forgiven—between them. His lips parted and he knew he should say something to her. They were standing in the middle of their engagement party, for Merlin's sake. But when he tried to bring forth any coherent thought, he fell short. And so he closed his mouth.

A single tear slid over Astoria's cheek and she brushed it away quickly before it was evident that an aristocratic pureblooded female was showing emotion in public. "Go. Go talk to her. If you can honestly end things, I'll be here. But…you need to listen to what your heart says, Draco."

He looked into her eyes, sparkling with tears threatening to fall. "I'm sorry, Astoria. I never wanted this. Especially not here, not tonight of all nights."

"I'll handle the guests," she told him. "If you haven't returned in one hour, I'll handle the guests."

"I'm sorry—" he tried again, the last year with the Slytherin flashing through his mind.

She put her fingers over her lips, trying her hardest not to cry and shook her head. "No, Draco. Don't apologize. It's always been there. This…underlying distraction. I've always known I haven't held your heart solely."

Draco opened his mouth to speak once more. She shook her head. "Go."

Draco felt like the shittiest person in the world. Here he was in the midst of a party being thrown for he and the witch in front of him, to celebrate what everyone hoped would be a long and happy life for the pair. But his every thought was on the witch that was currently hiding somewhere else.

He rocked on the balls of his feet, uncertain of what his next move should be, when Astoria turned away from him and held her head high. She marched up to a few of the closest guests and began a cordial conversation with them. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.

He met the Malfoy's house elf by the entrance. "Bips, have you seen Hermione Granger come through here?" he nearly demanded.

The small elf was taken aback and pointed up the stairs. "She went to Master's room."

His room? How would Hermione have known where his room was? He took the stairs two at a time and hesitated when he reached his bedroom door. His heart was still hammering crazily within him, fighting to escape through his chest. He opened his door and stepped into the dimly lit room. The doors leading to his balcony were open and there, in the moonlight, stood Hermione.

He felt his feet carry him to where she leaned on the bannister. He leaned next to her. "What are you doing here, Hermione?" he asked, his tone biting.

The party was mostly inside now, couples dancing merrily on his behalf. They looked out over the garden, a few people eating and drinking instead of dancing inside. "I came to offer my congratulations to the happy couple," came her small reply.

Draco scoffed and his face pulled into a grimace of emotional pain. The sound of her voice was bringing back so many memories—kissing alongside the Black Lake, working into the morning in the library as they prepared for NEWTs, her stretching nakedly in his room after a night of getting lost in one another. They had been so happy, her voice had once soothed every worry, every nagging feeling of unworthiness he had. He looked to where her hands were grasping the bannister, seemingly holding herself up. On her left finger rested a modest engagement ring. Weasley had gotten to her.

"What are you really doing here, Hermione?" he asked once more, knowing there was more.

She tapped her hand against the railing twice and turned to him, as she leaned against it. "What do you want me to say, Draco?" she asked him weakly.

Draco fought to stay angry with her—angry that she decided to skip into _his_ engagement party. After ignoring his repeated pleas. All of the letters, flowers, gifts he'd sent. "I wrote you, _repeatedly_. I _begged_ you not to leave me. I _loved_ you more than anything in this world, Hermione."

His anger began to waver, just as it always had, at the sight of her large, expressive eyes welling with tears. "I did, too, Draco. I _still_ do."

Draco stepped back a pace from where she was staring up at him. She brought a hand up to cover her mouth and he could see that it was shaking uncontrollably. He turned around, unable to look at her for fear his entire being would fall apart once more. She still loved him? "Why, then?"

Hermione was silent behind him, only her soft sobbing breaking the still night air. Draco brought both hands up and ran them through his hair. "Why did you wait so long to tell me, Hermione? And at my engagement party, no less?" he asked and he could feel hot tears in his own eyes. "Do you know how many nights I wished for this exact moment?"

He looked to the stone wall before him, absently noting the ivy that climbed in the mortar. He swallowed hard, twice, and the hot tears that threatened to fall did. They were searing on the apples of his cheeks. All of the feelings he'd been through since she walked out of his life—anger, resentment, longing, brokenness. They crashed down on him once more. "What you've done is selfish!"

He felt Hermione's soft hand on his back and he whirled around and backed up once more. "Please don't touch me."

Hermione looked like she was going to faint with distraught grief. "Draco…you need to understand. I never wanted to end things. But…I just…I wanted you to have the best life. Your father threatened your inheritance—"

"I told you I didn't care about any of that, Hermione! I told you repeatedly!" he whispered forcefully.

She stepped closer to him. "I know, Draco. _I know._ I have screwed up royally and ruined everything we had. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was saving you."

"You didn't ruin _everything_ , Hermione. You ruined _me_. I fell into a very dark place after we broke up. I _loved_ you. I _bought_ a _ring_ for you! I was going to propose—on that trip we were supposed to take to Venice!" he told her, certain his insides were ripping into two.

"Draco. I was scared and I wanted what was best for you. Your parents…they never would have accepted us!" she told him, putting a hand on his arm.

" _Then,_ _why are you here?"_ he demanded once more.

Hermione bit her lip in the way that had made his knees knock as a man of eighteen. "Because you can't marry her."

Draco grabbed her hand forcefully and her engagement ring glinted in the moonlight. "Rich, seeing as you're betrothed to the Weasel!"

"I don't love Ron. I never have. And I'm certain he knows this…we're engaged because…of convenience. Just as you and Astoria are. I told him I was coming here tonight. And he knew. He _knew._ "

"I actually care for Astoria. That's where you are wrong, Granger."

Hermione looked as though he'd slapped her. "Draco…what we had…what we still have…"

"We don't have anything anymore, Hermione," he told her, and he didn't sound convincing enough to convince himself.

"You can't lie to me. I know you too well," she told him. "Please don't marry her."

Hermione put her other hand on his other arm, and Draco could feel the old emotions and longing stirring within him. His heart was aching to be reunited with that of his first love. "Give me one good reason."

"Because it should be us."

He'd always thought it _would_ be them. They'd fallen quickly into love upon their return to school, and with no war to separate them any longer, they'd loved fiercely and wholly. Draco had never thought that it would have ended. And for him, where his heart was concerned, it hadn't ended. It _should_ be them.

He was overcome with the feelings that had lain dormant for so long—raw, unadulterated love and fierce, passionate yearning. Draco grabbed both sides of Hermione's face and dipped his head to meet hers in one fell swoop. His lips pressed into hers and she opened them with eagerness and skill. Their mouths fell into a familiar rhythm, unique to the two of them joining.

Hermione wrapped her hands up and around his neck, fisting them into the hair at the nape of his neck and tugging in a thrill of pain and pleasure. Draco backed her against the bannister of the balcony, one hand on the back of her neck holding her steadfastly to himself, the other on the balcony, holding himself up. He was having difficulty pulling in deep enough breaths to oxygenate his brain, his thoughts coming ragged and disjointed. In the back of his mind, he remembered Astoria was down in the garden—he could vaguely hear her saying goodbye to guests. Weasley's face flashed in his mind for a moment as well. What they were doing was going to hurt the two others immensely.

But as Hermione suckled at his bottom lip, Draco couldn't find it in him to care. Everyone in his life had, at one time or another, called him selfish. He had put aside what he wanted for so long, trying to please his parents, the Dark Lord, Astoria. He was finally taking what _he_ wanted. He was going to be the selfish bastard everyone always expected him to be. Hermione Granger was all Draco Malfoy had ever wanted. In all his days at Hogwarts, it was she that had struck his fancy. And he'd finally had a taste of the long-forbidden fruit and had never stopped yearning for it. Hermione Granger had nestled herself deep into his heart.

"Draco," Hermione said, pulling her mouth away to speak as he dragged his lips down her neck, "I am so sorry for everything. I love you. I love you, and I always have."

Draco lifted his face back to hers, kissing her lips over and over again. "You stupid witch," _kiss,_ "you thick, idiotic witch," _kiss,_ "you nearly ruined everything."

Hermione giggled nervously, pulling his head back with her hands in his hair. She kissed him once more, devouring him completely. Draco couldn't find it in himself to stop what was transpiring. Because this is what was meant to happen. Astoria Greengrass. Ron Weasley. They were distractions. Pleasant distractions, but distractions none the less. As much as he cared for Astoria, he didn't _love_ her.

Hadn't he always compared everything about her to the witch currently making his resolve and knees weak?

Draco began to back her into his room, his heart and body responding to her and muddling his mind beyond repair. He navigated her back, his fingers pressing into her hips. She tripped on a heel nearing the bed, his beautiful klutz, and fell back. She landed in the bedding with a bounce and he responded with a hoarse laugh. "Still the same klutzy mess," he mumbled as she sat up and gripped the lapels of his suit coat to bring him in for another kiss.

He allowed her to pull him forward, responding to her with equal fervor. His body was nearly quaking with unbridled desire to be united with his witch once more. He'd loved her for so long. Draco pushed her back into his bed, running his hand up her calf to her thigh, pushing her dress with it. He broke his lips from hers to pepper wet, open mouth kisses along her neck, sucking her sweet flesh as he did. She tasted exactly as he remembered all those night alone in this very bed—sweetly salty and intoxicating.

Draco fisted the silk of her gown in one hand by her hip, running his other hand long her side and under her to grip her arse hard. His mouth moved from the tender spot on her neck, over her collarbone and he licked at the hollow of her neck, just between the collarbones. He breathed lightly over it, remembering how it used to raise gooseflesh over her entire body. He smiled as that exact reaction took place—he knew her better than he could have ever hoped to know Astoria.

"Draco," she breathed and he'd forgotten how sweet his name sounded falling from her lips as his were on her body.

He hummed a deep rumble in his chest and the feeling of it reverberating made her pull his head even closer to her, her back arching as he nipped at the soft swell at the top of one breast. They didn't have the time for him to lay her down and make love to her properly—he could practically hear the guests asking after his whereabouts. But if he didn't take this witch, he was going to spontaneously combust. She seemed to be having the same thoughts, as she ran one strappy heeled foot up the back of his calf, grinding her hips against his. His cock throbbed painfully against his trousers, straining almost uncomfortably.

Draco ran his hand over her breast, leaning back to watch her face as he did. The fabric of her dress created a barrier, but somehow the fact that they had to remain almost clothed for fear of getting caught made it that much better. She brought her hands to his belt and he slipped his suit coat off and dropped it to the floor. He watched as her nimble fingers undid the belt and then the button and zipper of his black dress trousers, his hands holding her hips firmly against the bed.

Draco had always enjoyed watching her every movement, her every reaction. It was the most pleasurable part of sex with Granger. She jerked his trousers down slightly, his underwear with them. Hermione wrapped her hand around him and began a slow rhythm up and down, and he had to take a sharp breath in. _"Fuck, Granger,"_ he muttered, his hips thrusting lightly to meet her movements.

Astoria didn't like when Draco spoke during sex—she was always silent and insisted he be as well. But not Hermione—she enjoyed hearing him whisper into her ear. He pulled her knickers down and she lifted her arse and legs to allow their removal, ceasing her hand's work only momentarily. Draco removed her hand from him and pressed it back into the bed, taking her other and doing the same. He kissed her, not a sweet delicate kiss, but one that was fierce and bruising. He ran his tongue along her bottom lip and then took it between his teeth, causing her to wriggle beneath him.

He lifted his head and smirked down at her. She'd always been impossibly impatient. He held her hands above her head with one of his, knowing she wouldn't fight it and brought his other hand to her hip. He ran it down over her leg, brushing his fingertips over the inside of her thigh. She subconsciously spread her legs a little further in anticipation. "Quit teasing, you prat."

Draco laughed, a heady gleeful laugh, and brought his fingers to where she ached for them most. He nearly groaned at the feel of her silken core. "So wet already. Is that for me, love?" he whispered, running a single fingertip down the length of her slit.

He lowered his face to hers as he dipped one finger into her and her hips lifted slightly to meet him as he slowly pumped in and out. He freed her hands and brought his thumb to her clit, massaging circles lightly with the exact pressure he knew would start her off right. He used that same hand to press her firmly down into the bed. She let out a low moan and gripped his upper arms.

Her hands ran over his shoulders, neck, chest, searching. Skin on skin contact would feel so _right_ , but what they were doing currently was so _wrong_. There was so little time. Her nails dug into the fabric of his shirt sleeves as he brought a second finger to join the first, coaxing that spot within her that made her legs shake around him. "Faster," she instructed, clenching her eyes closed.

Draco was more than happy to oblige his bossy witch. His two hands worked in tandem with one another, increasing in pressure and tempo until he found one that had her back arching, her hips bucking despite his firm hand steadying her. Hermione let out a series of quick, panting breaths before a satisfied, _"Oooh!"_ Her body quaked around him and he slowed his ministrations as she rode out her orgasm.

He gripped both sides of her hips and pulled her closer to where he stood, pulling her up to meet him. His cock slid against her slick heat and he could no longer hold onto his self-control. "Tell me what you want," he told her, sliding along her once more.

She twitched, her body still sensitive. "Oh, gods. I want you."

He looked at her and she nodded once and he thrust forward. At the feel of him filling her wholly and completely she sighed and he groaned. Finally. _Finally._ He'd only dreamed of this for so long. The feel of her was unlike any other.

She wrapped her legs around his back, pulling him closer to her. As he thrust, she rolled her hips in time, creating a careful dance between the two of them. Their bodies knew one another, each movement, each touch sending shivers through them. Her hands gripped the edge of the bed at either side of her hips, fisting handfuls of the bedspread.

Draco leaned forward, closing the gap between them as he continued his thrusting. Hermione lifted up to kiss him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. With their breathing becoming steadily more ragged, their kisses were quick and heated. Their noses brushed when their mouths separated to breathe, moans and grunts sounding between them. "You feel so _fucking_ good, Granger."

"I've missed you," she agreed, attempting another kiss despite her quick breaths.

"Tell me when," he whispered, nuzzling and suckling at her neck once more.

Draco was pretty adept to picking up on the cues Hermione gave off. The steady shaking of her legs, increasing in veracity the closer she got. The way her breaths quickened and a blush crept up her chest and into her face. The way she would arch into him, pressing into him fully as she would softly say his name, half a sigh, half a declaration. When all of these things began to occur, he brought the pad of his thumb to her clit once more, running circles over it as his hips snapped into her repeatedly. She mumbled "Now," in her dazed stupor.

He leaned forward and sucked hard at her neck, knowing that she enjoyed the pain of a love bite mixing with the pleasure of an orgasm. Her fingernails bit into the nape of his neck and he found his release as his name fell from her lips in a contented moan. He dropped his slick forehead to her shoulder as he caught his breath. She ran her fingers through his hair and pushed his sticky fringe away from his forehead. "It should've always been us. I am so sorry," she told him.

The severity of what had just transpired suddenly weighed on him and he moved to stand fully, mumbling a scourgify to clean them up. "Astoria is downstairs," he commented, to which Hermione raised her eyebrows.

He pulled his trousers up once more, tucking his shirt in. "Don't give me that look, Hermione. We fucked up."

"So…so you're going back to her, then?" Hermione asked, pulling on her knickers under her gown.

Draco gave her an exasperated look. "Of course not. Do you think I could return to another witch after _that_?"

"So what are we going to do?" she asked him, pushing her hands over her hair to smooth it back into its elegant style as he pulled on his suit coat.

"We've got to face the music," he replied with a shrug. "We're fucked. Hopefully the press has already left."

It was only then, after Hermione's powerful, bewitching spell had dissipated some, that he realized what he'd done. His betrothed was somewhere downstairs, bidding their guests adieu as he fucked his ex upstairs. Draco looked at Hermione and knew he could never go back to the way it was before she waltzed back into his life tonight. Astoria was a lovely witch and she deserved so much more than him. So much more than to be second string chaser to the girl who'd always had Draco's heart.

When they were sufficiently dressed, all scratches, nips and love bites glamoured and their hair righted, Draco straightened and held his chin up. "There's no time like the present."

Hermione worried her bottom lip between her teeth but nodded. "I'm so sorry for this."

"Me, too," Draco replied, taking her hand.

They descended the stairs and immediately Draco was aware of a storm brewing. There was no happy clinking of glasses or Viennese waltzes playing. There was the sound of his parents in a heated debate. "How could you invite her? You knew this would happen!" his father demanded.

"He deserves to be happy, Lucius!" his mother countered.

"He was beginning to be happy with Astoria, Narcissa! You meddlesome witch! Now look!"

It was then that his mother looked around his father's side and her face broke into a strained smile. "Looking, I am. And look how happy he looks, Lucius!"

"I thought you were happy with Astoria, Draco? How could you do this?" he bellowed.

Draco's grip on Hermione's hand tightened and he jutted his chin out defiantly. "I care for Astoria. But…"

"But you were never happy. There was always something holding you back," Narcissa finished for him. "A mother knows, Draco. I could see it in your eyes."

Lucius was giving Hermione a look that would cut any weaker witch in half. "You know the repercussions of your actions, Draco. You give up your inheritance."

Draco nodded once. "Fine."

"The Malfoy inheritance. Not the Black's," Narcissa said from behind her husband.

Lucius whirled around. "You wouldn't! You wouldn't go against me in such a defiant manner!"

"I would, and I already have," Narcissa said proudly.

Draco's mouth fell open and Lucius looked murderous. "Narcissa. I wish to see you in the study. Alone. Now."

Narcissa nodded and led the way into the study. Lucius slammed the door hard enough to shake a painting of Abraxas Malfoy from the wall. Draco pulled Hermione's hand toward the back door. "Your mother stood up for you," Hermione mentioned weakly.

Draco bit his lip and sighed. "This is not the last of this."

He walked into the back garden and nearly ran at the sight before him. Astoria was sobbing at an empty table as Ron Weasley paced a path beside her. He turned and stopped short when he saw the couple, hands clasped, exiting the ballroom. "You!" he bellowed, drawing his wand.

Hermione stepped in front of Draco. "Stop, Ron!" she screamed.

Ron's arm was shaking as he held his wand in the air, pointed directly at Draco's head. Draco came to stand beside Hermione. Weasley looked between the two before a defeated slump set his shoulders. "I am so sick of trying to live up to him," he told her. "You need to decide, Hermione."

She looked at the redhead and Draco's heart began beating wildly again. What if she chose him? It was easy to say she didn't love someone until he was crying and hurting in front of her. There was a moment's hesitation and then she dropped Draco's hand and slipped her engagement ring from her hand, holding it out to him.

Weasley took it from her and looked down at it. "For the last two years, I have tried my hardest to be better than him. But your heart was never with me. I've got to get out of here. I'm going to the Burrow. If you could have everything out of the flat by Monday, that would be great," he told her and he apparated on the spot.

Astoria looked up and stared at Draco and Hermione. "I wish you never would have kissed me that night in the garden. I wish you never would have pursued a relationship with me. Proposed to me. Allowed me to embarrass myself here tonight!"

Draco felt the guilt slip into his features. He _did_ care for Astoria. But he just didn't _love_ her. "I wish all of those things, too. I care for you, Astoria. I really do. But…what I did was not fair to you. I wanted to forget Hermione and I used you to try and achieve those means. I am so sorry."

Astoria marched forth and slapped Draco, hard, across his face, leaving a red handprint to rise on his alabaster features. She looked to Hermione. "You slag. You ruined everything!" she screeched before she, too, apparated.

Hermione and Draco stood in the garden of the Manor, looking out over the empty tables and still twinkling lights. Hermione drew a heavy sigh. "I wish I could say I feel worse about all of this than I do. Does that make me a bad person?" she asked seriously.

"We are both complete and total fucking arseholes," Draco replied, feeling truly terrible for Astoria but lighter than he had in a while as he held his love's hand once more.

o-o-o


	8. Mummy Hates Macadamias

Draco Malfoy stood in the queue at the Muggle grocer, a child's tiny hand clasped in each of his as the cashier rang his items: flour, butter, sugar, chocolate chips—both milk and white, macadamia nuts and a few odds and ends. His day had already been hellacious. Work had been an absolute drag: he'd spilled coffee down his white shirt and silk tie right before a meeting and it had stained before he had the chance to scourgify it; he had stood on his feet for the better part of the day, brewing and preparing potions for patrons at the Apothecary; he'd forgotten his mobile phone on his desk at the end of the day and then when he'd gone back to retrieve it, had forgotten his keys and had to go back a second time. Not one of his most put-together days, suffice to say.

Hermione insisted on immersing the children in the Muggle world before they left for Hogwarts and so, Draco drove an auto, carried a mobile phone, picked his children up from her parents' home each evening, where her mother taught them all kinds of Muggle studies. And now, his children had insisted that they bake cookies for their mummy upon returning home. " _Someone please Avada me now,"_ he thought as a dull throb pulsed in his temples.

"Rosie-Posie, grab Leo's hand so daddy can get the groceries," he said, and his daughter took her brother's hand with her free one, grumbling in her tiny voice the whole time.

Draco led his little ones to the car and strapped them in, taking a moment in the cool autumn air to take a deep breath. Growing up as an only child, he had always fancied the idea of having multiple children—four had been his ideal number. As he scrubbed a hand over his face, the muffled sound of his children bickering in the backseat of the car, he silently thanked Merlin they had decided to stop at two. He absolutely adored his children, of course. Draco would kill anyone who tried to harm either one of them, or their mother for that matter. He would jump without hesitation in front of the green light of a Killing Curse if it meant one of them could live another minute longer.

But, damn. Sometimes working at the Apothecary all day and then coming home and being a father was exhausting. Draco drew another deep breath and climbed into the driver's seat. "You two settle down back there," he said in his gruffest voice.

Draco wasn't the disciplinarian parent. That was better left for Hermione, whose stern glare and hands on her hips could make even he sweat nervously. No. Draco was the "fun" one—he let them eat ice cream for breakfast when Hermione had to work on Saturdays and they both loved that he taught them to fly around the back yard on their training broomsticks. Hermione read bedtime stories that would lull them peacefully to sleep, but he acted the stories out on his hands and knees. Often times they all ended up in a laughing heap on the bedroom floor, far from slumber.

The children quieted down and all was well until they pulled down the long drive to their home. "Daddy, Leo won't stop _pulling my hair_."

"I not pull hair, daddy," Leo's tiny three-year-old voice sounded entirely too mischievous.

"I hope not. Because little boys who pull their sissy's hair don't get cookies," Draco admonished, parking the car.

"I not."

"He _did_ , daddy," Rosie insisted.

"Enough, Rose. You're the big sister," he told his six-year-old, unbuckling her first and helping her out of the seat before climbing in and retrieving Leo.

"But, daddy—"

"I said, enough! Now, take Leo up and wash your hands," Draco instructed as he opened the door to their home and used wandless magic to turn on the lights leading to the kitchen.

He pulled out the contents of the groceries and laid them across the kitchen table. He removed his stained white shirt and ruined silk tie and sighed, standing there in his undershirt. The children came ambling back into the room and he put on a wide smile. "Now, who's ready to bake the best macadamia cookies in the world?" he asked, scooping Leo up and giving him a kiss.

"Mummy hates macadamias," Rosie said in a matter-of-fact tone that perfectly matched her mother's.

"Yes, but they are daddy's favorite, Rosie-Posie," he said, conjuring a stool for Leo to stand on in front of the table.

"We make mummy some," Leo offered to the conversation.

"You're right. We'll make mummy's chocolate chip cookies first. But then we make daddy's," Draco said as Rosie climbed onto her knees in a chair next to him.

"You sure you know how to do this?" Rosie asked, eyeing the sugar and flour warily.

"Of course. I've got Bobo's recipe card right here," he said, pointing to the wrinkled piece of parchment his mother's house elf had given him.

"When can we go see Bobo?" his daughter asked curiously as he opened the bag of chocolate chips.

She popped a few in her mouth and Draco handed some to Leo. "Soon, baby. Soon."

Draco's heart clenched. He'd gotten into a serious row with his father. Lucius was against their introduction of so many Muggle _dalliances_ when the wizarding world had so much to offer. Draco had not-so-kindly told him that it was none of his business how he raised his children, considering the smash up job he'd done. They hadn't been to see his parents in months.

"I miss Granny Cissa," she commented.

"Me too, lovie," Draco said, swiping a hand over his daughter's mass of blond curls.

Leo was happily munching away at a pile of chocolate chips in front of him, the candy melting on his fingers and across his chubby cheeks. He handed the measuring cups to Rosie. "Fill one of these with the sugar," he said, opening the sack of sugar for her to reach in.

She did as she was told, spilling sugar all over the table. "And now one of these," he said and he indicated a smaller cup.

He did this with the ingredients one by one until they had a nice batter mixed. "Now, take a spoon and get a glob of this on there," Draco showed Rosie, pulling a spoonful of the mixture out.

"Can I has, daddy?" Leo asked, pointing to the spoon.

"You have to wait 'til it's cooked, baby," Draco said, wetting a dishtowel and wiping the chocolate from Leo's face.

He showed Rosie how to use a second spoon to scoop the batter onto the pan. She grumbled through placing two cookies on the pan and then resorted to using her fingers. Draco sighed. Whatever worked. He lifted Leo into his lap and sat to watch her.

His headache was starting to dissipate as Rosie held the baking sheet up to him proudly. "Looks good, Rose. Let's get this first batch in the oven, shall we?"

He levitated the cookies into the oven and Leo squealed with delight—he always took such pleasure when Draco and Hermione performed magic. Draco tightened his arm around him as Rosie perched on his knee. He twisted one of her curls around his finger and she swatted his hand just as Hermione did. "Can we make my cookies now? With the macadamias?"

"Mummy hates mac-dem-yas," Leo grumbled, copying his sister's earlier words.

"Yes. But I like them," Draco laughed.

"Only mummy's. They has chocolate."

Draco ruffled the child's hair. "Too right you are, little lion. Let's make another batch of mum's favorite then."

Everything was going well until Leo got bored with his chocolate morsels and decided he wanted to assist Rosie in stirring the next batch of batter. He reached his little hand over and pulled the bowl while Draco was up and peering at the first batch, his back turned. It clambered to the floor and Rosie let out an ear-splitting screech and Leo began crying. Draco ran a hand through his hair and turned around. "Daddy, Leo ruined _everything_!" Rosie said through tears, everything on herself, the table, the floor and her brother covered in flour and sugar.

Leo was grabbing the air in a motion that indicated he wanted to be picked up as fat tears rolled down his face. "It's okay, Rose. We can get this cleaned up and start another bowl. What do you say?" he asked and she stomped her foot.

"No!"

"Young lady, do not use that sassy tone with me. Go up and get cleaned up. Mum will be home soon enough," he told her, bending with Leo to retrieve the bowl from the floor.

Draco flicked his wand and pulled the original batch of cookies from the oven as Leo hung his arms around his neck and sobbed. He looked around the disastrous kitchen and chuckled softly, rubbing the child's back. His phone dinged in his pocket and he fished it out, a new text message flashing across the screen. _On my way with Chinese takeaway._

It was Friday, and they always did some kind of quick meal on Fridays as a way to end the week on a stress free note. Wait until Hermione came home and saw the disarray the kitchen was in, the upset and fussy children. Rosie ambled into the kitchen with the bashful look she always gave him when he'd corrected her, her lip quivering. She had changed into her nightgown and had her slippers on. "Come here, Rose Bud," he said, sliding down the cabinets to sit flat on the floor with his back against them.

He held out his arm and she nearly jogged into him. Leo's cries were muted little breaths now, exhausted from a full day. Rosie looked tired as well as she cuddled into Draco's side. He smiled down at his two children and planted a kiss on top of each mop of curls, hers blond and his golden brown. He put his head back and rested his eyes in the rare quiet moment.

A while later, Draco felt fingertips graze his cheek and he opened his eyes. Evidently he and the children had fallen into a quick sleep, because Hermione was standing over him with one eyebrow raised. "What on earth happened here?" she asked, untangling Leo's limbs from around her husband's neck.

Draco smiled sheepishly as he stood with Rosie. "We baked you some cookies," he replied, eyeing the flour and sugar strewn about.

Hermione let out a gentle laugh. "I see that. Kids are all knackered out."

"Let's get them up to bed and I'll clean this mess," Draco said and he led the way up the stairs to the children's bedrooms.

He tucked Rosie in with her favorite stuffed dragon—a white one with grey eyes she called 'daddy's dragon.' Draco kissed her little cheek and she tiredly lifted a hand to his face. "Sorry 'bout the mess, daddy."

"Not a problem, love bug. Accidents happen. You sleep now. Mummy will be in right after she tucks Leo in," he said, rising from the dainty little girl bed.

Her eyes were closed once more by the time he made it to the door. He and Hermione crossed paths in the hall and she ran her nails along his chest in passing. Draco went in to Leo's room and knelt down to give him a kiss on his chubby cherub cheek. The boy was sound asleep, soft snores leaving his lips.

Draco exited the room just as Hermione left Rosie's and he reached out for her hand. "Long day?" she asked as they moseyed down the stairs.

"Eh," he shrugged noncommittally. "How about yours?"

"Eh," she mimicked him as they entered the kitchen.

Draco sighed and waved his wand. A broom began sweeping and a wet cloth wiping every surface. He leaned back against the counter and Hermione stood before him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He kissed her forehead and reached behind him to the now cool pan of chocolate chip cookies. "Never did get around to making my macadamia nut ones."

"I hate macadamias," she replied with a shudder, sticking her tongue out in a feigned disgusted way.

"So I've been told…twice today," he laughed, popping the cookie between her lips.

Hermione took a bite and swallowed. "These are terrible cookies…I'll get us some milk," she said with a laugh.

Draco pulled the pan from the countertop and sat on the floor of the kitchen once more, his legs crossed before him with his back to the cabinets. Hermione sidled up next to him and handed him a glass of cold milk. They sat amiably, eating the too-crunchy cookies that he and the kids had attempted and he sighed with a smile after a few moments. Hermione looked over at him. "What are you smiling about?" she asked, poking his side.

"I never thought I could love someone as much as I love the three of you. My heart is so full," he commented.

"Well…I hope you can make a little room in there…" his wife said, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, a smile playing at her lips.

Draco looked down at her curiously, raising an eyebrow. "What does that even mean?"

Hermione grabbed his hand and brought it to her abdomen. "Are you ready to be a daddy to three?" she asked, clearly excited but guarded as she gauged his reaction.

Draco dropped the sheet of cookies to the floor with a metallic clatter and used the hand that wasn't tenderly pressed to her belly to pull her face toward his. He kissed her with enthusiasm, clearly letting her know he was just as happy. Maybe he'd make it to four, after all.

o-o-o


	9. All Around the Mulberry Bush

Draco Malfoy leaned against the kitchen sink of the home he shared with his wife of only a few months, a warm cup of tea in his hand. He stared out of the window and out into the yard beyond. In the bright early August afternoon, he could easily see why Hermione had fallen in love with this old farmhouse and the expanse of land surrounding it.

The house itself was over a hundred years old, large by Hermione's standards but small by Draco's—a perfect medium. Old white clapboard siding and faded red shutters adorned the house. They planned to paint the entire house soon, slat-by-slat and shutter-by-shutter. That was his Hermione—she loved to do things by hand and he'd learned to roll with it if it made her happy. Inside the home, she'd decorated with quaint little farmhouse touches and antiques and it was so quintessentially _Hermione_ that Draco couldn't bring himself to hate it.

But the land surrounding the home was the real showpiece. Acres upon acres of rolling, overgrown wildflowers and weeds that she loved to run through barefoot, much to his dismay. But that was his girl—always needing to get her toes into the earth, her skin kissed by the sun. There was a wooded area that ran the perimeter of their property, full of ancient oaks and pines that they enjoyed listening to the wind whisper through.

Just a few days before, they'd been exploring the paths nature had carved into the woods and come upon a mulberry tree, a patch of narcissus flowers growing around its base. Hermione had plucked the flowers and woven them into a bouquet with a simple braided ribbon—a gift for his mother when they saw his parents later that afternoon to invite them into their new home for the first time.

Today was the day the Malfoy parents would visit their son and his beautiful bride's new home for the first time. Hermione had left on her bicycle to ride down to the mulberry tree, intent on baking a pie to serve for dessert. She'd already laid out the other ingredients on the kitchen island, ready for her return. Draco smiled into his cup as he took the last sip of tea. The relationship between his wife and parents had been tumultuous, to say the least, but recently both sides had agreed to come to an understanding—a grandchild can do that to an old stubborn couple.

Draco was madly in love with the feisty little witch, more than he ever thought his once blackened soul could possibly love another being. He rinsed his teacup and set it in the strainer to dry, surveying the tree line for his bride. He needed to see her, to kiss her, to hold her.

A silly grin on his face, Draco exited through their back door and retrieved his own bicycle to take off after her, her absence making his heart ache more than it had any right to. He relished the warm air against his face, the sun warming his shoulders, chest and the top of his white-blond head. He entered the narrow path that led to the mulberry tree and inhaled the intoxicating scent of earth dampened by yesterday's rains, ancient cedar and sweet wildflowers.

Draco heard his wife humming to herself, completely lost in her own world. He slowly dismounted his bike and discarded it to the side. He walked the few feet to the end of the path, his hands in his jeans pockets and a love-sick grin on his face. His sweet Hermione was barefoot—her usual state on a warm summer's day. A pair of jean shorts, cut and frayed around the bottom, led into perfectly long bronzed legs. She wore a sleeveless white button-down shirt, tied in a knot at her navel. Her hair wasn't just _brown_ , it was battling shades of coffee, auburn and as summer wore on, light blond highlights that lightened with each passing hour spent under the sun. Her skin was tanned, vibrant and glowing, and Draco wondered if it glowed even more because of her state. His eyes traveled to her single most beautiful feature—the almost imperceptible bump on her lower abdomen. If anyone else had been given the privilege to see her in all of her glorious naked splendor, they may not have even seen the softest curve of her belly, so new to motherhood was she. But he saw it, he felt the way her skin was hardening as her womb nurtured their precious baby.

Draco smiled at the thought of it and as she turned to pull a branch lower to her body so she could more readily access the fruit, she finally caught sight of him. The most graceful smile swept across the face of his witch then. He smiled back and ambled slowly to where she was, content in simply drinking in the sight of her for a few moments.

"All around the mulberry bush…" he said with a lilted voice, whistling the tune he'd learned in childhood.

"The ferret chased the otter…or something like that," Hermione replied, her eyes sparkling mischievously as a wicked grin appeared on her face.

Draco narrowed his eyes at her though a smile played across his features. He closed the distance between them as she retrieved a few berries. He sidled right up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, his hands clasped and resting over where their love grew. He placed his chin on her sun-pinkened shoulders, placing a kiss on the warm splash of freckles there. She held a berry over her shoulder, turning her head to watch him take the berry between his lips.

She turned in his arms, a handful of berries still in her violet stained fingertips. As he chewed the berry, both tart and sweet, she popped one into her own mouth. A small trail of red-violet juice ran down her chin. Draco dipped his face to meet hers, his bottom lip and the tip of his tongue ridding her otherwise perfect skin of the stained rivulet.

He took her mouth with his own and she dropped the remaining berries and brought her hands to either side if his neck and face, the mulberry juice from her fingertips leaving sweet smears across his pale skin like war paint.

His witch was sweet with the fruits she'd eaten, with the fruit she herself bore, with the vibrancy and appreciation of life she poured forth at every moment. Draco pulled her closer to himself, bending his towering height to greet her petite stature, her back arching with the effort. One hand gripped her hip while the other fisted the light cotton fabric of her shirt.

When they were both sufficiently breathless, Hermione broke the kiss, nuzzling his nose with her own. "If you keep distracting me, we'll never make it back to the house in time for me to bake this pie."

"I think you have enough berries to bake three pies," he said, gesturing toward the basket at their feet. "Let me have you a little longer," he crooned and she complied by bringing his face to hers once more.

He backed her against the tree's trunk, placing one hand beside her head and the other playing with a curl as their kisses alternated between playful pecks, sweet brushes of lips and deep fiery kisses that tingled down into Draco's core. He brought his hand from her curl to rest under the collar of her shirt where her neck swept into her shoulder, the warmth of her skin pleasant against his palm. "Draco…we've got to head back!" Hermione said, giving him one last peck and ducking beneath his outstretched arm before he could protest.

He let out a frustrated growl and turned to retrieve her wicker basket, overflowing with the fruits of her morning's labor. She laced her fingers with his as they walked slowly toward their discarded bicycles. Draco brought her knuckles to his lips, kissing each in turn before he brought their still laced fingers around her back and pulled her close to kiss her temple.

And, blast it all, his mischievous little wood imp got that little glint in her eye again and he felt himself go weak in the knees. "I'll race you home!" she squealed gleefully and she broke away from him and hopped on her bicycle in a way only a child-at-heart could.

Draco listened to her melodious laugh as she pedaled faster, feeling slightly anxious at the thought of her getting hurt in her current state. He whispered a cushioning charm around her, in case she fell. Hermione was none the wiser in her giddy state and Draco pedaled quickly to catch up with her. When they came forth from the wood to the long dirt road that led up to their home, the first drop of rain from a summer storm fell from the sky and splashed on his heated cheek.

Hermione hopped from her bike and sprinted toward the front door of the home and Draco laughed heartily behind her. He pulled the basket from his handlebars and took the stairs leading up their porch two at a time, his long legs more than capable of closing the distance between them easily.

Hermione was inside and in the kitchen when he entered the house, mulberries bouncing from the open basket as he jogged along down the hall and into their kitchen. She was innocently adding together the flour and butter needed to form a crust and he dropped the basket on the counter beside her, berries tumbling to the floor. Hermione rounded on him at the state of her prized berries and gave him a playfully admonishing look. "Draco Malfoy! Look what you've done! Now I don't have enough to bake one pie!"

He found he didn't care much about berries or pies, he just wanted to taste his witch once more. And so he did. He pulled her face up to his, backing her against the island counter. Hermione leaned back into it and smiled into his lips as he kissed her slowly, boxing her hips in with his hands on the counter behind her. Her hands were covered with flour as she caressed his cheeks and jaw, clutched at the front of his blue cotton shirt.

Draco pushed the mixing bowls away from where they stood and Hermione hopped back to sit on the countertop with a little help from Draco's hands on her hips. He leaned into her, bracing her upright with one a firm palm at the small of her back. She nestled her hands into his hair and they pushed when the other pulled and kissed with a fervor and passion that they could only ever find in one another. And as Draco ran his fingertips over her thigh, just under the hem of those sinfully short jean shorts, they heard a low clearing of the throat behind Draco.

"I do hope we're not…interrupting anything," Lucius Malfoy drawled, looking down his nose at the couple though a twinkle shown in his steel eyes.

Narcissa was fighting a smile as she raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that how you got in a mothering way, dear?" she asked as her daughter-in-law blushed deeply.

Draco took in the destroyed state of the kitchen, berries, and flour all over the counter and floor, the trail of squashed berries leading in from the door. He knew his skin was marred with the dark fruit stains and he had flour over his cheeks, hair, and shirt. He smiled sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Mother, Father…welcome to our home!"

o-o-o


	10. No Girls Allowed

Draco made his way out into the gardens of Malfoy Manor. It was a beautiful day and he relished the warmth of the sun on his skin. Hermione had convinced him to build Scorpius a fort in the back—because after all, "What is a childhood without a tree fort?" she'd asked him. He levitated the necessary wood and tools he would need to assemble this fort and sighed as the tree came into view. His mother would turn over in her grave if she knew he'd trimmed back the foliage of her immaculately kept gardens.

Hermione was inside fixing their lunch, little Scorpius "assisting" her until Draco had the fort assembled. He levitated the tools to work magically, watching each nail get hammered into the wood with magical precision. As he stood back and surveyed everything working of its own accord, he realized how incredibly indolent it made him feel to create something for his son without lifting more than his wand.

Draco sighed and dragged his shirt up and over his head and transfigured it into a tea towel and tucked it into the back pocket of his denims. The sun bearing down was increasing in intensity and beads of sweat were beginning to form as he lifted the hammer and put two nails between his lips as he hammered a third into the boards.

And so he worked for what seemed like hours, climbing and descending the tree as he completed the fort in sections. Hermione ambled out after a while and placed a hand on his sweaty shoulder blades. "Have some lemonade, love," she told him, handing him a cold glass when he leaned back on his haunches.

As he gulped down nearly the entire glass, she raised an eyebrow at his handiwork. "Forget you're a wizard or something?" she teased, turning her head this way and that to survey the structure.

Draco looked up at the tree fort and frowned. "It _is_ rather ugly, isn't it? I just thought I'd do something for our son by hand for once."

"I think it's perfect. We'll reinforce it with magic. Keep it waterproof since it rains more often than not here," she said, lifting the small planks that were to be the ladder and inspecting the wood grain.

"I hope he likes it…I've never done anything like this before in my life," Draco commented, noting the dirt that was under his nails as he brought the tea towel from his back pocket and wiped his face.

"He will love it, Draco. It will mean a lot more in the future that you made this by hand, when he's old enough to understand," Hermione told him, bending to brush her lips across his sun-kissed forehead. "You're going to be sore later."

"Well…I'm sure you could assist me in applying some salves," he told her, giving her bum a gentle smack.

A loud squeal sounded from behind them as Scorpius came flying out of the Manor, his grandfather chasing after him exasperatedly. Like a wild spider monkey, the blond little boy with a cherub face ran at full speed, ignoring Lucius' protests and smacked full on into Draco's back, wrapping his arms around his father's neck in a strangling manner. Lucius ambled up to them, clearly out of breath as he leaned forward on his knees to catch his breath in the most unaristocratic way. "This child," he huffed, "has way too much energy. I'd forgotten what you were like at his age."

Draco laughed and stood, holding his son's arms firmly as he spun him around on his back. Scorpius screamed in delight in Draco's ear, deafening him momentarily. "Ooh, can we go in, daddy?" he asked when Draco had spun enough to his liking.

"You like it?" he asked, eyeing Hermione as she smiled at him.

"I like it better than the Manor," Scorpius told him. "But there is one thing missing," he said, and Draco turned his head to see the little boy frown.

"What's that?" Draco asked, worried that he didn't live up to the four-year-old's expectations.

"I love it, but it needs a sign that says 'No Girls Allowed.'"

"Why would you want to keep mummy out?" Draco laughed, relief flooding him that the boy did indeed love the outcome of his hard work.

"Not for mummy, silly," Scorpius told him slyly. "For the baby in mummy's tum!"

Draco's eyes shot to where Hermione was smiling, a hand over her abdomen. He crossed to his wife and gave her an excited kiss on the lips. "Yuck, daddy!" Scorpius screeched, pulling his father's hair admonishingly.

"Oh, sweet Merlin," Lucius said, leaning against the tree. "Another one? Really? Are you trying to give an old man a heart attack? That's it, we're hiring an au pair."

o-o-o


	11. Petrichor and Promises

Seeking shelter from the storm was the first of many mistakes made that day. More specifically, mistakes Draco Malfoy had made that day. And for the life of him, he could not recall how things had gotten so out of hand.

He stood under the hot water of the showers in the Slytherin locker room, just off the Quidditch Pitch. The game had been postponed halfway through due to a dangerous lightning storm and he had no desire to make his way back into the castle to listen to his housemates complain about it. Everyone else had already made their way inside, leaving him alone to think.

Draco dried slowly after his shower, carefully applying a healing slave to the few bruises and aches he'd already obtained. He dressed in clean clothing and, when he could no longer find any reason to linger in the locker room alone, he made up his mind to make his way to the library.

He placed a drying charm over himself and made his way outside. Though the charm kept the water rolling away from him, he could feel the fat drops pelting against the magical shield. As he passed under the Gryffindor stands, a lit wand caught his eye. He ducked under, intent on getting away from the pelting rain and investigating.

As he approached the far end, Hermione Granger's form became evident. "Granger, what in the bloody hell are you doing lurking under the stands?" he asked incredulously, coming to stop not far from where she sat.

He looked around; the stands provided fairly decent coverage from the storm raging around them, but a few drops came in here and there. Except in a three-foot radius around where she sat, reading. "I thought that should be fairly evident. I'm hiding from the storm and my housemates. I have no desire to hear them gripe and whine about how they could have still played in weather like this."

"Why aren't you in the library, then?" he asked curiously, unsure as to why he was even trying to carry a conversation with the studious Gryffindor.

She shrugged. "It's relatively dry down here. I have a book. I _had_ privacy."

Draco took that as his dismissal and turned to go, already dreading the hundred yards he'd have to walk in the rain to the castle. "Malfoy?" he heard her soft call behind him.

What could she possibly want from him? He turned and raised a brow at her, though she likely couldn't see it in the dim lighting. She closed her book and raised her lit wand toward him. "What are _you_ doing out here? The game ended nearly an hour ago."

He felt his face spread into a small smile. "I suppose you and I aren't as different as we had hoped. I'm also hiding from my housemates."

Granger gestured toward the open space next to her. "Why don't you sit a spell then?"

"You want my company?" he asked, feeling a strange fluttering in his heart.

"I must be desperate," she retorted with an unladylike snort.

Draco rolled his eyes and moseyed back to her small cubby in the corner, taking a seat next to her. He leaned back against the wall of the stands and stretched his legs out before him. Granger mimicked his movements and sat back next to him. He looked down at her and an amused smirk rose on his face. He tugged at one of her curls. "Does your hair have a mind of its own?" he asked.

Granger glared at him and scooped up the mass of curls and tied them back in a messy pile. "It's the humidity," she replied.

"Ah, I see. So now you are blaming the weather for that owl's nest?" he teased, not knowing what had come over him.

Granger swatted him playfully and he felt that fluttering again. "And what about you? Your hair has no personality at all!"

Draco scoffed. "Please, Granger. Witches fawn over these stunningly sexy locks," he said, running a hand through his hair and mussing it in a way he'd heard witches enjoyed.

"Not all," she pointed out.

"Any witch that isn't attracted to me clearly has bad taste anyway," he shrugged, feigning arrogance now.

"So, I have bad taste, then?"

Draco grinned to himself, putting his head back against the wall. "Clearly. Look at Weasley."

Granger nudged his shoulder. "That's not fair. Look at Pansy."

He pretended to shudder. "Let's not discuss _her_."

"Let's not discuss _them_."

He nodded once and drew his legs up and bent his knees, draping his arms over them. "So, tell me, if witches fawn all over you, how is it you've remained 'Wizarding Britain's Most Eligible Bachelor?'" she asked him, her tone still light and teasing.

Draco looked at where the bottom of his Mark, both dark and vibrant against his pale skin, peeked from below his sleeve. "In all actuality, I should think it's evident! 'Hi, I'm Draco Malfoy. Ex-Death Eater. Care to join me on a date?' I don't think so," he said, shaking his head.

"I've seen countless owls dropping off packages and pink-tinted letters at the Slytherin table," she argued.

Draco felt his cheeks burn and he was grateful it was still dimly lit under the stands. "Ah, yes. No one of any real substance. Death Eater groupies. Witches who want a taste of the Malfoy fortune. Widows who want a handsome, young wizard to make them feel alive again. I had a seventy-five-year-old witch send me a marriage contract!"

Granger laughed heartily at this confession and, despite his embarrassment, he smiled at the sound of it. They had been getting along more since returning to Hogwarts and she'd even blessed him with a smile or two. But this was the first time he'd been the cause of her laughter and the sound made a warm feeling spread over him, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

"Afraid they might have grandchildren older than you?" she teased lightly.

"Absolutely. Nothing would be more embarrassing than trying to play grandfather to a thirty-year-old," he told her. "And what about you? I've seen the way some of the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors have looked at you."

"I didn't know you were so interested in my potential suitors."

He shrugged, feigning disinterest. In all actuality, Draco took note every time a dewy-eyed Ravenclaw brought her an enchanted rose or offered to carry her school bag. It twisted a small dagger in his heart every time he witnessed it, though he would never admit that aloud. Granger sighed. "Golden Trio groupies. No one cares about my intellect, personality…not even something as shallow as my looks. They just want a date with the 'Golden Girl.' It's infuriating, really."

"I care about your intellect," Draco replied, his voice small.

Granger's eyes darted up to him and her bottom lip went between her teeth. "That's only because you're intelligent enough to keep up."

He took this as a compliment, a pleased look gracing his features. The rain around them began to taper off and she took a deep breath in. "I've always loved the smell of the earth after a rain," she stated, closing her eyes.

"There is something about it that's just so… _clean_ ," he conceded.

They were silent for a few minutes as they watched the last of the rain drops splash to the earth. The sky began to lighten ever so slightly and they both knew their strange encounter was drawing to a close, though they both seemed reluctant to end it. Granger was the first to stand. He followed suit as she looked out toward the castle. "Malfoy?"

"Yes?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in her direction.

"Promise me you won't settle for a seventy-five-year-old widow," she said, half-teasing, half-serious.

Draco let out a deep laugh. "As long as you don't settle for some starry-eyed Ravenclaw who brings you roses like some common, unoriginal plebe."

Granger turned toward him. There was a foreign look on her face, one Draco didn't readily recognize as ever gracing her features. Then, suddenly, she was leaning up on her tiptoes and her lips were on his. He froze for a moment, shock coursing through him, before he responded. He placed his hands on her hips as she touched his neck and jaw. He didn't quite understand what in the bloody hell was going on, but Merlin, it felt fantastic. He'd known Granger was impulsive, but this seemed out of character for her. As her tongue traced his lip, deepening the kiss, he decided he no longer cared—he could no longer formulate a single thought.

Her scent mingled with that of the damp earth, a smell he would not soon forget. She was warm, the misty air around them chilly. Her quiet sighs and mewls of delight were sweet, the thunder still clapping in the distance harsh. She was contrasting intoxicatingly with their surroundings and Draco wanted nothing more than to dwell in this moment until the end of his days.

When Granger finally pulled away, she smiled bashfully up at him. "Promise me you won't rule out what your heart desires, simply because your past dictates it."

Draco nodded dumbly as she took her leave. His thoughts were swirling, his breathing labored, his body on fire as he watched her go. The second mistake of the day, Draco knew, was not going after her in that very moment, to let her know he didn't give a damn about his past.

He'd just have to think of a way to make it up to her, to assure her he felt the same.

o-o-o


	12. The Sea Nymph

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was inspired to write this by Trinkisme, based off of her one-shot, The Hawthorn.

Draco Malfoy lay awake in his makeshift tent alongside the lulling shore of the Scottish seaside. It had been six months since he'd gone to the Order of the Phoenix and agreed to accompany Harry Potter on his trek to find Horcruxes. Six _long_ months of camping outside, eating sparse rations, of being totally isolated from the world outside of the Golden Trio and the Dark Lord's soul-catching trinkets.

Six _long_ months of working alongside _her_ —the only Light in the whole blasted operation. She was everything he wanted and then some—fiery, bright, beautiful, challenging. They had tip-toed around one another for so long now, stolen glances and shared secretive smiles affirming what they both felt but were too bashful to act on.

The air outside of his tent was still and warm in the summer night, unobscured by noise, as the nearest shantytown was miles away. He listened as the waves pushed and pulled against the sand and rocks just an arm's length from where his head rested. He was going over their next moves in his mind, the constant threat of danger and being discovered an ever-present dull throb in his temples.

As the waves whispered softly outside, a soft rustling noise grabbed his attention. He reached into his pocket and fisted his wand, throwing back the blanket he'd been wrapped in. It was early morning—the sky was still an inky midnight that blanketed their surroundings like silk, the moon a florescent orb dancing high above.

Draco looked around for the source of the sound and saw a figure to his right, walking slowly from his neighboring tent. He peered into the darkness and caught sight of Hermione Granger's retreating back as she slowly ambled away from her shelter and into the open air. She was wearing some kind of long flowing white linen gown that billowed in the breeze behind her, throwing her curls about wildly, though there was no breeze playing across Draco's own hair.

Draco unlit his wand and stowed it away, suddenly intrigued by Granger's strange behavior. His heart was pounding in his chest and he was unsure if the roar he was hearing was his own blood behind his eardrums or the sea on his right, the waves crashing against rocks not far from shore. There was a wall of boulders on his left and he tried to stay tight against it, carefully hidden from her sight as he stalked quietly behind her a pace.

Finally, when they were out of eyesight of their makeshift shelters, she stopped and extended her arms upward toward the sky and then out at her sides for a moment, the wind playing with her translucent gown. He could see the outline of her figure under the white material, a dark silhouette contrasting in the moonlight. _What is she doing out here?_ His rational thoughts were silenced at once when he watched as she pulled the thin fabric from her shoulders and it dropped in a puddle around her ankles.

Draco could scarce breath for the sight before him. Granger, wearing nothing more than the Gods had graced her with upon her birth, was wading one step at a time into the sea, the gentle waves lapping at her luminescent flesh. Her outline was bright against the black water before her and he knew he had never seen anything more perfect in all of his life. She was a goddess, in every sense of the word.

"Why don't you come and join me?" she called softly over her shoulder.

His heart came to a halt right then and there—he'd been caught observing her. Draco's hands began to shake, but other than that, he couldn't move a muscle. Granger's hands were playing at the water's surface on either side of her thighs. She turned to look at him and her voice called out to him once more, sultry and more seductive than anything else he'd heard in his life. "Come on, Draco…the water's such a delight."

Granger extended a hand back toward him, beckoning him and he felt his feet move, almost of their own accord. His heart was beating a rapid tattoo in its bony cage and his mouth was parted slightly as he took in the sight before him, the scene surrounding them. He was wearing a pair of cotton pajama bottoms, slung lowly on his hips and he hesitated at the water's edge, the cotton of his garment acting as a wick to the sea salted water.

"Don't be shy, love. Not tonight," she cooed over the waves' hectic whispers. "Join me."

Draco couldn't string together two sentences to form a coherent thought, but he understood what she was insinuating. He slipped his hands into the top of his pants and hesitated for a moment before he slid them down over his legs and let them pool at his feet. He stepped out of them and the water tickled as it lapped at his ankles. He waded into the sensually warm water and grasped her extended hand. She looked up at the full moon, its beams dancing across the vast expanse of water. "It's so beautiful, isn't it?" she asked, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

Draco couldn't agree more, though his eyes were trained on an entirely different sight to behold. The witch before him was positively radiant, a beacon of light in the dark night. Her skin was flawless and glowing, inward peace being projected outward. Her hair was wild around her face and shoulders, the salty air causing her curls to expand and cascade in a dark curtain against her pale flesh. Her eyes were alight with a fire he'd never seen before, burning with a knowing that felt almost… _ancient, primal_. Her naked form was the picture of Aphroditic beauty and grace.

When he allowed his eyes to travel down her body to the water, Draco noticed that he could no longer discern where her skin ended and the sea began. It was almost as though she'd _become_ the waves. "Do you know the story of the Nereids, Draco?" she asked him quietly, and her voice was velvet to soothe his aches.

"The Greek goddesses? Not a whole lot…they were sea nymphs…" he was having a hard time thinking of anything intelligent to say as he stared at the goddess _before_ him.

"Actaea was the Nereid of the sea shore," she said, pensively staring at the water once more.

Draco raised an eyebrow as she turned to face him, taking his other hand. "She was also my grandmother…" she said, looking up into his eyes, her earthy mahogany capturing his mercurial silver.

"That would make her…" he couldn't voice the absurdity of it.

"Nearly three thousand years old. I know. I didn't believe it until I did the research on my own," she whispered, running their hands below the water.

Draco felt a strange sensation as her hands all but disappeared into the water, becoming fluid and vanishing within his own fingertips. It was nearing high tide and the water was rapidly rising around them, now tickling above his navel and below the soft swells of her breasts. But he could no longer see her body glowing just below the water's surface. He reached forward and as his fingertips graced where her body should have been, he felt a strong surge of unrelenting magic, warm and crackling through his veins. He could feel his mouth open in awe and she smiled up at him as she reassembled her flesh. His fingertips brushed against her bare hip as she materialized into her soft earthly form once more.

"What—?" he whispered and she placed a finger over his lips to silence him.

A single drop of water dripped over the curve of his bottom lip and down over his chin, leaving a sizzling trail in its wake. Granger smiled once more, her soft lips the color of a delicate rose bud in spring. She brought her other hand up and ran the tips of her fingers over the angles of his face, the curve of his jaw just below his ear, a single thumb over his parted lips. She leaned her face toward his, her mouth so close to his, her breath tickled his face when she spoke. "Don't question it…just trust me," she purred and he nodded dumbly, bringing his other hand to rest on her bare hip.

Draco leaned his head down to meet hers as she wound her arms around his neck, her fingernails raking into the hair at the nape of his neck. The feel of the petite witch— _sea nymph—_ pressed against his skin sensually was more than he could stand. Every brush of flesh on flesh was a new wave of sinful desire.

She brought her hands slowly down from around his neck and broke the kiss when they could scarce breathe, their lungs aching for oxygen, but their bodies aching for more. She traced over his pale flesh with her fingernails and it set fire to every inch of Draco's body. Granger…nay, _Hermione_ , leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his chest as it heaved with the efforts of trying to breathe. "I care for you deeply, you know," she confessed.

He knew. He'd _always_ known. Hermione Granger was the one for him, she was _his_ witch. "And I you," he replied, running his hands up from her hips, over her upper arms and shoulders to rest on either side of her face, cupping her heated flesh softly.

The look she gave him when her eyes found his once more told him everything he needed to know, every reassurance coursing through him like a persistent river through ancient rock. She knew, too. He was _hers_. Draco stepped closer, filling an imperceptible space between them and he brought his lips to hers once more, taking a moment to relish the kiss' unique flavor—sea salt so thick he could feel it brushing between their lips.

In the back of his mind, he knew they should worry—Potter and Weasley weren't but a few hundred yards away, their tents mere dots on the beach. But neither could find it in themselves to care. All that existed on that balmy summer morrow-tide was the two of them, their limbs tangling languidly in the water as it lapped at their entwined forms. They explored each other, covering unchartered territories. Each touch, embrace, kiss, nip was purposeful and concise, full of awe and passion. Fingertips explored secret planes and gentle caresses accompanied hushed declarations of love and promise.

He was hers, wholly and completely—in that moment and any one that could possibly follow. And she was his—past, present and always.

o-o-o


	13. A Seer Revealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A one-shot from The Princess and the Pariah Universe

Hermione and Draco sat side-by-side and across from his parents on the lanai overlooking the gardens at Malfoy Manor. They watched as Rose weaved through the labyrinth of roses, which his father had charmed to change paths every so often to keep the girl on her toes. Draco reached over and ran his head over the soft hair on his son's head as the boy rested against Hermione's shoulder.

"Is he still having issues communicating?" Mother asked quietly, taking a prim bite of the pie she held and gesturing with her fork to Scorpius' back.

Draco glared at his mother, feeling a pang of irritation at her choice of words. "There's nothing wrong with his communication, Mother. He's just quiet."

Hermione ran a protective hand over the crown of Scorpius' head. "The Healers think he'll come out of his shell—he's just shy."

"He's mute," the elder witch stated factually. "I just don't want there to be any issues. Alya faced such hardships early in her life."

"He can hear. He's just slow to respond, sometimes," Draco told her, knitting his brow and frowning.

His mother nodded, though she looked concerned for her grandchild. The boy hugged his mother round the neck and Lucius sighed a long exhale. "Scorpius, do you want to go and play on the toy brooms?"

The boy lifted his face to his grandfather and nodded slowly. Lucius smiled and scooped the small boy up from his mother's lap and tossed him over his shoulder. The boy giggled as Lucius attempted to tickle his sides and walked with him down the stairs. Draco watched his father interact with his son and a sharp slicing ache ran through him. He knew he should not blame his father for his shortcomings as a parent—it was a long time ago. He should be ecstatic that the relationship between his father and Scorpius was so strong.

They watched as the boy mounted a tiny broom and kicked off with ease. Even at the age of four, he had all of the finesse on a broomstick that Draco possessed. Rose was still running through the rose bushes, brandishing a stick like a wand and screeching at imaginary foes. "Do you think you'll stop at just the two?" his mother asked calmly, sipping her tea.

Hermione nearly choked on her tea. "The two we have are quite the handful. I think I speak for both of us when I say Rose and Scorpius are all we need."

"Scorpius is a blessing. With the Malfoy lineage, I thought for sure it would be one child and done. Though…for Rose to come first was quite the shock as well," his mother stated, smiling as she watched her husband coaching Scorpius.

The young boy flew over the lake, his toes skimming the water and causing him to squeal a high-pitched sound of enjoyment. "Come on back, Scorp. Over dry land," Lucius commanded.

The boy turned on his broom and in a slow and somewhat defiant manner, made his way back to his grandfather, taking his time as he looked at the water's surface. He stared intently below himself and stopped suddenly ten feet from the shore, dangling idly over the lake. "Now, young man," Lucius warned.

Draco was on alert as he watched the strange behavior that had overtaken his son and Hermione was already on her feet. The child had stopped moving completely and Draco was hot on Hermione's heels, thinking Scorpius may have fainted in the air. "Scorpius!" his wife was screaming, running toward where Lucius stood.

The wizard raised his wand and accio'ed Scorpius to himself, but the child teetered on the broom and slipped. Lucius had him levitating before his back hit the water. Draco met his father and wife on the shore and Lucius levitated the young boy safely to the ground. "Are you okay, son?" Draco asked, dropping to his knees to look him over.

The child appeared to be fine, save for a small furrow in his brow. His lip jutted out in a pout and he began to cry as Rose ambled from the briar bushes to join them, "What happened to brother?" repeatedly falling from her mouth. Hermione lifted him, feeling all over his head though everyone had watched him safely return to stable ground without incident.

"What happened, baby?" Hermione cooed as Draco took his son's hand. Narcissa was gripping Lucius' shoulder so hard her knuckles were white with fear.

Draco knew it was no use asking the child questions—he would not answer them anyway. Scorpius' inability to communicate was frustrating at times, though Draco defended him at every turn. "Use your words," he instructed patiently.

Scorpius looked to both of his parents and then straight at his mummy, his lip quivering. He extended two tiny hands to either side of Hermione's face and Hermione instinctively grabbed one of Draco's while running her other thumb over the soft skin of the child's hand. Scorpius stared directly into Hermione's eyes and Draco watched as his little grey ones became glazed over and his entire body seemed to loosen up.

_Draco stood with Hermione and Scorpius outside of their townhouse in Hogsmeade, watching as a former version of the two adults played in the snow with a four-year-old Rose. Hermione was pregnant, looking almost ready to burst as Rose threw a handful of the powdery white stuff into the air. Draco remembered this night very clearly—it was the night Scorpius decided to come six weeks early and gave his parents the surprise of their lives._

_Draco looked to Hermione, whose mouth was hanging open slightly. Scorpius looked up at both of his parents and then took off running toward the vision-family. "No! Scorpius, don't touch anything!" Hermione called after him, sprinting to catch him just as he reached out to touch the vision-Rose._

_It had been years since Draco and Hermione had scryed together, her interest in her Seeing abilities waning after her attack and subsequent memory loss. He was flabbergasted to discover that his son—his beautiful little cherubic son—also held the same power as his mother. Clearly, Hermione worried over his being a Beholder as well, as she wrangled him round the middle before he could lay hands on any of the vision versions of themselves._

" _I don't even want to know what would happen if he touched my stomach while I was pregnant with him," Hermione said between puffs of breath that oddly did not leave clouds of mist, though the air was bitter cold._

" _Mummy," came a tiny voice between them and Draco looked at his son's face._

_His cheeks were bright red, and he was wiggling to get out of Hermione's arms. It was such a rare occurrence to hear the blessed little voice that Draco felt his heart swell at the sound. "If mummy lets you go, you cannot touch anything. Is that understood?" he asked, running a finger over the child's pudgy cheek. "You hold my hand."_

_Scorpius nodded and Hermione let him go. Draco bent down and took his hand, kneeling as they watched the vision-Draco and Hermione laugh and play with vision-Rose. "Sissy."_

" _That's right, that is sissy. Do you know where you are, little man?" Hermione asked him, the tone in her voice one of equal parts awe and confusion._

" _In your belly."_

_Scorpius had now said five words, more than Draco could have hoped for in a single day. His eyes stung with tears, though none were shed. Hermione laced her fingers with his and he heard a tiny sniff from her, clearly emotional as well._

_Vision-Rose plopped into the snow, the moisture causing a cold wet stain to rise over her bottom. "You're going to catch a cold, Rosie Posie. Why don't we go inside and have some hot chocolate?" vision-Draco asked, standing over his daughter with his hands on her hips._

" _Warm chocolate," the sassy little witch corrected. "With cream on top?" she added sweetly._

" _Of course. How else would you get a moustache?" vision-Hermione questioned._

_Vision-Draco bent to retrieve his daughter, lifting her to his chest as he climbed the stairs into their home. He watched as his vision-wife's face contorted, and she placed a hand on her belly, clearly aware that something was amiss. He wished he could go to her, to reassure her that everything would be okay, that Scorpius would grow to be a loving, beautiful child. That, though he was born early, the labor was easy and the baby would grow stronger with each passing day._

And just as quickly as they were brought into the vision, they were back on the lakeshore behind the Manor, surrounded by Draco's parents, and a worrisome Rose. "What was that, son?" Lucius questioned, a slight panic in his voice as well.

"He's a Seer," was Draco's quick explanation. "Scorp, has that happened before?"

The tiny child nodded. "A lot?" Hermione questioned, brushing a hand over his corn silk hair.

He nodded again, and his lip began to quiver once more. "Scary."

Narcissa's eyebrows rose toward her hairline and Hermione lifted Scorpius up. "Let's go inside, my sweet boy. Mummy wants to show you something. Is that okay?"

He nodded again and laid his head on Hermione's shoulder, looking worn and uncertain. Draco stood as well and ran an encouraging hand over his wife's arm. "You go. I'll stay out here with Rose."

"Do you think she—"

Draco shook his head. No, he did not believe Rose to hold this particular ability, but it was something they could discuss later with her, when Scorpius wasn't on the verge of crying and they were more certain of the extent of his Seeing abilities. Draco looked to his mother as he wiped the dirt from his trousers. "He communicated that loud and clear, without speaking a single word," he said snidely, feeling a slight victory.

He knew his mother was only worried—she fretted over him to this day and he was in his thirties. Narcissa nodded, wringing her hands as Rose took Lucius' and pulled him toward the rose bushes. "Do you think these…these _visions_ have something to do with his lack of communication?" she asked quietly.

Draco frowned and scrubbed a hand over his face and into his hair. If Scorpius had, in fact, been having visions all along, was it possible that he also saw some of the more unfavorable things Draco and Hermione had gone through? His assisting the Dark Lord? His near-death experience after Hermione had been ripped from him following graduation from Hogwarts? The ridicule and anger that lingered around the couple for years? Had he Seen himself, tiny and inside of a magically operated incubator for the first few weeks of his life? He had mentioned it being scary to him and it physically pained Draco when all of the possibilities of what his son had possibly endured alone flashed through his mind.


	14. The Springtime of Our Love

Hermione Granger had always loved the spring the most of all the seasons. The harsh winters of Great Britain finally relented, and the world was reborn around her. She sat on the first warm day at a bench in the park in Central London, a copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ in her lap. The last dusting of snow had long melted by this April day and the sun was shining, warming her through the fabric of her sweater. A light breeze blew, and buds from the hackberry and Judas trees rained down around her like snowflakes. They gathered in her hair and she shook her head with a laugh. She was entranced by the petals collecting and rippled the pond's surface ahead of her.

She watched a pair of mallard ducks swim gracefully through the water, cleaving through the fallen pink and white blooms. Ahead of her, a tiny male robin, with his rust-colored chest puffed out proudly, hopped close to her. Hermione plucked a corner of her sandwich and tossed it toward the tiny bird. He looked at her curiously and hopped toward the food with an appreciative chirp.

There was a certain magic to the spring. The Earth was emerging from her long slumber and everything was coming to life. The grass was a lush green carpet surrounding her, the trees were in full bloom, wildflowers grew in a few patches that hadn't been mown just yet. There was a sweet fragrance in the air, and the sweet sound of wild life scuttling about.

A couple were sitting in the grass a little way to the right of Hermione's bench, a blanket spread out beneath them. Between them, a small toddler was learning to walk as his mother cheered him on, his father's arms outstretched. A few people on bicycles passed, breaking her view every now and then.

The book in her lap lay idle, her attention on everything around her. She was so engrossed in taking in the surroundings to her right that she failed to notice a tall, lean man stop to her left. "Well, if it isn't Miss Hermione Granger. Or is it Weasley now?" came a drawling voice she hadn't heard in years.

Hermione's head snapped in his direction and she felt her heart sputter to a quick stop. There, a mere meter from where she sat, stood Draco Malfoy. She hadn't laid eyes on him in five years—since she'd testified on his behalf about the events that had transpired in Malfoy Manor all those springs ago. Near Christmas, 1998, he had been sentenced to five years of probation, the one condition of his release that he forfeit his magic for the entirety of his punishment. By her calculations, that left just over eight months in his probation. Even more strangely, she hadn't seen hide nor hair of him in any of the papers in almost as long.

Malfoy was dressed as a Muggle—a pair of loose shorts and a t-shirt bearing the logo for Manchester United, running trainers on his feet. He pulled tiny buds from his ears and pocketed one of the new Muggle portable music players. Hermione's eyes instinctively went to his left forearm and she was surprised to see that he had tattooed his entire arm in an effort to mask the Mark—blooms of narcissus flowers, a few ancient runes, a serpent winding around an intricately designed 'M' among the many designs, and from under the sleeve of his shirt, she saw the tail of a dragon. Though there were many symbols and all negative space was filled in, but she saw that it was subtle, muggle-friendly ties to his family.

She looked him over, not at all being subtle in her surprise. He was seemingly taller than last time she'd seen him. His skin wasn't ghostly pale, but not quite bronzed as he sported pink, sun-kissed cheeks. His hair was still as silvery blond as ever, longer than last time she'd seen him as it draped over his forehead to brush his eyes and curled around his ears. His body was tight and fit, well attended to, though it may have always been under all those Italian suits and Hogwarts uniforms. He wore a smirk, though it held no malice. His grey eyes sparkled in the April sun as he raised an eyebrow at her scrutiny of him.

"Malfoy. This is certainly the last place I ever expected to run into you," she said, clearing her throat and turning her face from his gaze.

"I live in that building there," he pointed up at one of the posher complexes in London. "I was down here to start my run when I saw you."

"So, this is why we've heard nothing of you since your trial?" she asked, looking once more toward his home and then back at him, "You've been living as a Muggle?"

He gestured toward her bench. "May I?"

Hermione grabbed her bag from the bench and placed it by her feet, providing space for him to sit. "Doesn't do much good to live as a wizard if I cannot use magic," he shrugged as a response, pushing the hair from his head, before it sprang forward and back into place.

"So, what do you do, then?" she asked curiously.

"Just after my sentencing, I began working in a Muggle bank. I manage that bank now," he said, clearly proud of his accomplishment.

"Handling money, how surprising," Hermione replied, rolling her eyes.

"Figured it would be good to stick to what I know," Malfoy said, grinning as he tugged one of her curls playfully. "What about you? Not exactly surprising that you quit the Ministry to buy out Flourish and Blotts. Books…how utterly _predictable_."

"I didn't realize you kept such close watch on me, Malfoy," she said, smiling to herself as his cheeks pinkened a little further.

"How could I not? With the _Prophet_ stalking your every move," he replied nonchalantly.

Hermione sighed. "You'd think things would quiet down some after five years…I came to Muggle London just to escape it."

Malfoy laughed lightly, a rumble from deep within him that Hermione felt resonate in her own chest. "It's not so bad, you know? It's quiet and private, even in the midst of a crowd of people. No one knows who you are."

"Draco Malfoy, admitting he enjoys the Muggle life? I never thought I'd see the day," she said, raising her eyebrows at him.

Hermione picked another corner of her forgotten sandwich and tossed the crumbs to the little mallards who'd come wandering up interestedly after watching the robin claim his prize. She held it toward Malfoy, who took a corner and tossed it in three small pieces, laughing as the male duck caught it in mid-air. "I was wrong about a lot in my teenaged years, I'll admit. I had the wrong people influencing my thoughts, but once I severed ties with my father, I could see that everything I'd been brainwashed with for the entirety of my life was false. I've met some incredibly brilliant Muggles."

"You don't say," she smirked.

He hummed and tapped her knee. "What are you reading?"

She held up the book and he scoffed. "Ah. The harrowing tale of how the incredibly intelligent and witty Miss Bennet is able to overcome her initial prejudices and grow to love the haughty and dastardly Mr. Darcy."

"It's romantic," she said, a slight pout to her lips.

"It's unrealistic," he said, leaning forward to balance his elbows on his knees.

"It shows that first impressions aren't always everything and that prejudices are a hindrance in developing meaningful relationships. That second chances are everything."

"I never took you for a romance novel type of girl."

Hermione blushed and stowed her book away in her tote. "Yes, well. Sometimes a lighthearted read is necessary to counteract the serious nature of the world around us."

"I agree. But I much prefer William Shakespeare. And, I suppose if you are into romance and comedy novels, _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ has plenty of that," he said. "Though, I laughed through the absurdity of the romance in _Romeo and Juliet_ , so there's that."

"You think it's absurd that two individuals from opposite sides can fall in love?" she shot at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Not at all. But it is absurd that two people conditioned their entire lives to hate one another should defy everything they know for love," Malfoy said, narrowing his eyes at her with a smirk on his lips.

From the distance, a clap of thunder sounded. They both looked in the direction from whence it came, and saw that the sky had gotten dark in a stark contrast to the sunshine they currently basked in. "As much as I enjoy April showers, I don't fancy getting wet right now," she mumbled, pulling her gaze back to his face. "I guess this is where I bid you adieu."

She stood and grabbed her bag and made to leave when Malfoy's hand shot out and grabbed hers. "There's a coffee shop I enjoy just around the corner…would you care to join me?" he asked, giving her a genuine smile that she found entirely too handsome.

Suddenly, the idea of having coffee with Draco Malfoy sounded much more appealing than reading with Crookshanks in the quiet of her own flat. "Sure. I'd like that."

He stood, and they walked side by side through the park, the petals from the blooming trees falling more rapidly as the wind picked up. When they exited the park, Malfoy looked over at her and laughed. "Is it possible that your hair has gotten even more unruly since Hogwarts?"

She gave him a mock glare, though he was right—her curls had nearly doubled in size as she became healthier and less stress-laden. He laughed and stood in front of her, picking petals from her hair one by one. "Your mane has managed to ensnare more of these blooms than the trees have clung to."

"Very funny. I'm glad I could amuse you," she quipped, mistakenly looking up into his eyes.

His demeanor was lighter than she'd ever seen it and she took a moment to appreciate that his time in the Muggle world, tucked away from the drama of the wizarding world, had changed him for the better. He seemed lighthearted, playful even. He brushed a stray curl from her forehead. "There, better."

She smiled and turned away from him to begin walking once more. He led them to the coffee shop in question and to the back-corner table with a hand on the small of her back, clearly at ease as though he came here often. "Café au lait okay?" he asked her, to which she nodded.

When he went to the front counter to order, she took a moment to gather herself. What the hell was she doing? Fraternizing with Draco Malfoy? In the short time she'd been talking to him, she could see how different he was from before. This Malfoy, who spoke of books and plucked flower petals from her hair, was someone she suddenly became very interested in. She couldn't help but feel drawn to him—his new charming personality, his new look, the way he carried himself—confident but not arrogant. He was positively _appealing_.

Malfoy came back to the table with a tray, sporting two beautifully made round mugs of café au lait and a couple of pastries. He slid in across from her and gestured to the treats. "I didn't know if you'd prefer fruity or chocolatey, so I got one of each. Take whichever, I'm not picky."

Hermione took a raspberry filled turnover and Malfoy took the chocolate one. "So, tell me," he began, sipping his coffee, "why did you quit the Ministry? I thought you wanted to save house elves?"

His tone was kind, but Hermione could read the underlying teasing in his voice. "Because, I was met with quite the opposition…from the house elves. And, it became too political. Everyone had an agenda, and no one had any qualms about stabbing their coworkers in the back to get ahead even two steps. Couple that with the monotony and it just became unbearable. Turns out, Flourish and Blotts is far less appealing to reporters as well."

"What is it you enjoy so much about the bookstore?" he asked, a bit of froth on his upper lip.

She suddenly had the urge to kiss that froth away, and she swallowed it down. "Obviously, unlimited access to all the books my heart could possibly desire."

"Obviously," he replied with a grin.

"What about you? Why work at a bank? Why not a pharmacy—medication is not all that different from potions," she said, dropping her tone so as to not be overheard.

He shrugged. "I'm good with money—making it, handling it, spending it. It was the most logical thing I could think to do as an eighteen-year-old magicless wizard."

Hermione took a bite of pastry and carefully considered him. "I suppose you're right. I can't imagine the Pureblood Prince trying to navigate the Muggle world all alone."

Malfoy laughed heartily. "It was tough, at first. I had to get accustomed to dressing…casually. Using mobile phones, listening to Muggle music, operating appliances and electricity. You should have seen me when I learned to drive!"

As he said that, the sky outside the window opened up and poured down on London. Hermione smiled. "I bet that was a sight."

"A spectacle, more like. I hit a telephone booth and nearly killed a pedestrian," he said with a grimace, still smiling as he took a sip of coffee.

"Well, you have one up on me. I never learned to drive," she admitted.

"Never? But you live in Muggle London?" he asked curiously.

"Yes, but I work in Wizarding London. I see no need for a vehicle," she shrugged.

"You surprise me, little by little," he told her, and she shrank a little under the intrigued look he was giving her.

He finished his food and coffee and pushed his dishes to the side, leaning forward on the table to lean into her when he next spoke. "So, you never answered my question. Which is it?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Which is what?"

"Is it Granger or Weasley?"

She looked down into the coffee mug gripped between her hands. "Granger. Ron and I didn't mesh well together. I'm surprised you didn't see it in the paper."

"Must have missed it," he replied, looking satisfied with her answer.

"What about you?" she asked, trying to keep the curiosity from her voice.

He sat back in his chair and shrugged noncommittally. "Muggle girls are great—though, their inhibitions are much lower than witches. But they don't make very good life companions. They tend to have too many questions I can't readily answer."

"It must be lonely, living somewhere foreign to you with no one who can relate to you," she commented, finishing her meal.

"It was harder in the beginning. But, sometimes, a little ray comes along to shine light into my life," he gave her another genuine smile.

Was he flirting with her? He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it in a way that made Hermione weak and his smile widened into a grin. The lights began to flicker from the storm and then went out altogether. He looked up and then frowned slightly. "We should probably go," he said ruefully.

Hermione stood, and he led her out into the rain. "I guess this is it, then," he supplied, the rain pouring over them.

"Do you want to come back to my flat?" she asked impulsively.

His eyes shot back to her. "I can't Apparate…we can go to my place…it's less than a block from here."

"Let's go then!" she said hurriedly, laughing as they got soaked.

She took off running in the direction of the large white sandstone building he'd pointed to earlier and he was laughing as he jogged behind her. "This is not funny!" she shrieked, laughing herself. "You thought my hair was bad before, you wait until it dries without product!"

They got under the awning of his building and stopped running. "Yikes," he teased, tugging a wet curl. "It's like Medusa's snakes!"

"Let's just get upstairs! I'm freezing!" she said, the cold air making her shivered in her soaked state.

"Come on, then," he said, taking her hand and leading her inside, where the receptionist in the lobby glared at them for tracking trails of water in.

"Sorry, Karl!" Malfoy called, leading her into a lift.

"Yeah, sorry, Karl!" she called as the lift doors closed, causing both she and Malfoy to break down in euphoric giggles.

When they got to the fifth floor, the doors opened, and Malfoy took her hand once more to lead her to his home. His flat was upscale and modern, decorated sparsely and orderly, pristinely kept. She pulled out her wand to dry herself and he threw a hand over hers. "No. I have a trace. No magic. I'll get you something dry to wear and we'll throw your clothing into the dryer."

She nodded her understanding and stood, dripping onto his hardwood flooring until he brought back a towel, sweatpants and a t-shirt. "The bathroom is just down the hall, second door on the right," he said, pointing in that direction.

As she peeled her clothing from her skin and dried off, she asked herself yet again what she was doing. She towel-dried her hair and piled it in a messy bun atop her head. She could hear him moving around in his room, changing his own clothing and her heart started to race. She was alone with Draco Malfoy, _in his home_. How this must look to him.

Hermione pulled on the dry clothing, taking a moment to inhale the masculine, clean scent that clung to the shirt. When she went back into the sitting room, he was retrieving two glasses from the wet bar. "Do you want something to drink?" he asked.

"I'll have water, thank you," she said, not wanting to think about drinking alcohol in the already confusing state she found herself in.

She watched as he got two glasses of water and came to sit beside her on the couch. He turned to sit facing her, pulling one bent leg up and draping his arm along the back of the couch. She mirrored his position, not wanting to be rude. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth and watched his eyes dart briefly to her mouth. She cleared her throat. "Malfoy…it didn't occur to me how presumptuous and forward it looked to come with you to your home, but…"

"Relax, Granger," he said, rolling his eyes with a smug smirk on his face. "My plan wasn't to bring you here to sleep with you."

She nearly choked on her water and set it on the coffee table, wiping her bottom lip. He raised one playful eyebrow. "I _did_ however plan on kissing you while you were here."

Hermione's eyes snapped up to his, sparkling mischievously. "Is that off the table, as well?" he asked, leaning his head on the fist that rested on the back of the couch, angling his body closer to hers.

"Now who's presumptuous? You're assuming I'd want to kiss you," she replied cheekily, her face heating up even as she spoke of kissing him.

"Would you stop me if I tried?" he challenged, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hermione worried her bottom lip between her teeth once more and gave a subtle shake of the head. He reached over and ran his thumb over her lip, successfully untucking it from between her teeth. She barely had time to register what was happening before he leaned forward and pressed his lips firmly against hers.

Hermione closed her eyes and leaned into him, lacing one hand into his damp silken locks and the other on his chest as he slid his tongue along the lip that she'd been gnawing at only seconds before. He tasted sweet, like chocolate and sugary coffee, but he kissed even sweeter. He wasn't aggressive, as she would have suspected, but slow and precise. He savored every sweep of their tongues against one another, nibbled at her lip slowly as though to taste her just as thoroughly.

The smell of the cologne he wore mixed with the smell of his rain-soaked skin made Hermione feel heady and euphoric as she ran her hand up over his chest to rest on his jaw. He put one hand on her knee to brace himself as he leaned forward, and one on her neck, his thumb running over her skin. He dragged his lips from her mouth, slowly over her jaw and down to her neck, a gentle suck and nip between kisses. When he reached the spot just below her ear, she gave an involuntary shiver and squeak at the sensation.

Malfoy smiled against her skin and Hermione burst into a fit of giggles at the absurdity of the situation. He let out a huff of laughter as well, dropping his face from her neck and resting his forehead on her shoulder as they laughed together, neither sure what exactly was funny.

When the laughs subsided, she lifted his face to hers and brought her lips to his once more. Hermione decided she didn't care much how absurd their serendipitous meeting had been. The Fates had brought them together and the afternoon with him had been the best she'd had in years. The witch decided she would like to spend many more afternoons, learning this new Malfoy.

o-o-o


	15. A Glint of Gold

A glint of gold whizzed past Draco's ear, catching his attention from his peripheral. A glance at Krum told him that it had not escaped the Bulgarian's notice. This game would determine who went to the Quidditch World Cup-Bulgaria or the Falmouth Falcons. Both teams had played ruthlessly all season and Draco had spent every waking moment training for months. He leaned forward on his broom and took off at an alarming rate, his legs clamped around the sleek handle.

The twilight sky was blessedly overcast in Falmouth Stadium and the gold was bright against the stormy grey clouds. Krum was hot on the trail as well, coming from the opposing end. One thing Draco had on his side was that he was about a couple stones lighter than Krum, preferring to stay lithe and toned, instead of ridiculously cut. The added weight served as an anchor for the Seeker, and Draco was faster and more agile any day.

They were flying right at each other, the snitch hovering in the air between them, mocking them. At the rate they were speeding, they would crash right into one another in a moment's time. Draco was not one to back down, and he'd take the injury if it meant enclosing his hand around that little golden devil.

With a few meters to spare, Draco outstretched his hand just as Krum swerved to the side and used the end of his broom to knock Draco's. The three seconds of being thrown off course was enough for the snitch to flutter away, and he swore under his breath. It took a nose dive toward the ground and he dipped, following it with a foot between his hand and its wings.

Krum was so close behind him that he could feel the wind cutting around him. His fingertips brushed against the metal once more and he nearly had it in his palm when a bludger struck Krum in his ribcage and knocked him sideways. The handle of his broom knocked Draco off course and he had to do a barrel roll to avoid falling to his death.

Coming out of the roll, the snitch was so close to his face his eyes nearly crossed. As the crowd gasped at the sight of Krum teetering on his broom, his fingers finally enveloped the snitch. He had won the game for his team. They would be heading the Quidditch World Cup. He held it victoriously over his head and the stadium erupted into cheers as he twirled a few times.

As his eyes scanned the rabid and excited fans, a grin on his face, they landed on one person. A head of curly hair stood out in the sea of grey and gold Falcons memorabilia. While everyone around her was jumping, cheering, laughing and singing, Hermione Granger was seated primly on the edge of her seat. With Potter married to Pansy, he and the witch had become something of friends, but it still surprised him to see her there.

Catching her eye, he held the winning snitch between two fingers and gave her a wink, to which she rolled her eyes and shook her head with a sly smile. She would, no doubt, have cheered Krum on-their history was far deeper and less convoluted than the one she shared with Draco. But the small smile she reserved for him made a warmth spread through his chest as he fought to look away and rile up the others in the stadium.

Krum floated down to where Draco was hovering, waving his hands to get the crowd going. "It vas a goot game, Drago."

The Bulgarian was clutching his likely-broken ribs, but he extended a hand for Draco to shake, which made the screams grow louder. "Certainly was. See you next season."

At this point, Draco finally flew down to the ground and dismounted his broom, pulling his arm pads off as he made his way to the stadium showers. His teammates were in a raucous cluster in the locker room and it took another thirty minutes to disentangle himself from the others. He was still light, as though he were still floating on his broom, pride swelling within him.

Showering alone after a game was always more gratifying after a win. He sat on a bench outside of his shower stall, slowly unbuckling the pads on his shins. His entire body was aching and sore, the most satisfying feeling imaginable. The jersey was pulled from his frame and his hands went to massage his shoulders, letting out a groan. He would need copious amounts of healing salve later.

He finished disrobing, scourgifying the uniform to keep it from smelling _too_ ripe and climbed under the steaming stream. The grime and sweat melted away and he closed his eyes as he dragged shampoo through his hair. His adrenaline was vibrating through his body and his heart was still racing, but he had to tell himself it was because of the win. Not because a certain bushy haired witch had smiled his way. She had been in attendance to support his nemesis, for Merlin's sake.

When he had sufficiently scrubbed away the day's work, he dressed quickly in a pair of fresh jeans and a black button-down shirt. The rest of the team, save Gainsley, who played Beater, had already left. "Brilliant win, Malfoy," he complimented as Draco scooped up his duffel bag and made his way to the door.

He fell into step next Draco as they left the locker room and went out to the soft grass. The crowds had dissipated, though he knew fans would be waiting just outside the stadium for autographs. "It was a collective effort," he responded, looking up at the empty stands.

"I've never known you to be modest," Gainsley laughed.

Draco's gaze fell on one lone body sitting halfway up. "You're right, it was all me," he laughed, too, his heart skipping a beat as Granger looked up from the book in her lap.

"You coming to the party?" Gainsley asked, following Draco's line of vision.

"Sure, I'll be there," Draco told him, distracted as Granger's face lit up at the sight of him.

Gainsley looked between he and Granger and raised an eyebrow. "Don't wait too long or we'll all be pissed by the time you get there."

With that, he continued to trudge on toward the waiting crowds outside and Draco made a bee line for the stands, dropping his bag near the wall. "Hey," he called, taking the stairs two at a time. "What are you still doing here? Has Krum not come out, yet?"

His eyes darted toward the darkened doorway of the opposing team's locker room. Granger stowed her book in her beaded bag and grinned. "He left a while ago. I was waiting for you, though I should have figured it would take you forever to primp yourself."

Draco huffed a laugh and ran a hand through his damp and messy hair. "I didn't know anyone would be waiting for me."

He settled into the bench next to her and she scooted down to make room for him. "You played spectacularly tonight," she began, and her cheeks turned pink when he shot a confused look in her direction.

Draco's brow furrowed, and a smile was fighting its way to his lips. "I beat your boy, however."

"The right Seeker won," she told him, unzipping her jumper in the balmy night air.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were complimenting me," he countered, knocking her knee with his. "Careful, I might think you liked me."

"Can't have that, can we?" she asked quietly, though she was trying to hide the way she was turning a fierce scarlet.

Perhaps it was the way her voice was light and playful, and perhaps it was because he was still coming down from his adrenaline high, but he was feeling particularly daring in that moment. He reached over and swept her curls over her shoulder, not allowing her to hide behind them for comfort. "I can keep it a secret if you can."

She drew her lip between her teeth and Draco had to fight not to reach over with his thumb and swipe it out. Though he took great delight in the sight of Granger blushing over his words, he was immensely confused about why she had waited so long for him. They were friends but could have met up in the pub later. "Was there something you needed?" he questioned, his eyes falling to her shirt as she turned toward him. "Wait a minute-is that a _Falcons_ jersey?"

It was a rhetorical question, there was no mistaking the grey and gold stripes. She shrugged. "I figured I couldn't be crimson in a sea of grey."

"Ah, there it is," he laughed, leaning back in the stands and looking up toward the bright lights contrasting with the now darkened night sky. "Conformity. Though, I must say, how very unlike you, Miss Granger."

"How do you feel now?" she asked, mimicking his relaxed stance.

"There are few things in this world that could possibly make me any happier right now," Draco commented, closing his eyes for a moment.

"What might those things be?"

He reopened his eyes and grinned devilishly at her. Her eyes darted to the dimples in his cheeks before she raised a challenging eyebrow. "It would bring me great joy to have a pretty witch perched on my broom handle."

Her mouth fell open and she smacked his arm. "That's so crass!"

Draco laughed heartily and grabbed her wrist. "Where is _your_ mind? I meant it more literally. Come flying with me, Granger."

Her smile fell and her eyes flickered over his, clearly panicked. "I couldn't possibly."

"You can. And you will. I can be very persuasive and I won't take no for an answer," he told her, his hand encircling the wrist he captured moments before.

"Malfoy, I don't know. I've only flown a handful of times. I'll probably fall to my death and then who will fight for the elves?" she was mumbling as he followed him down the stairs toward the open stadium.

He reached into his pocket and retrieved his broom, enlarging it in his hand as they walked. "I won't let you fall."

"This is ridiculous," she argued lightly, her tone still disturbed.

Draco turned around and gave her his best charming smile, lacing the fingers of their hands. "If you would let go and just trust me for five minutes, you'd see how freeing being up in the air could be. Unless, of course, you're afraid."

Granger glared at him and he knew he had won-she would never back down from a challenge. His broom levitated between them and she swallowed hard as she took in the sight of it. "If you kill me, I will haunt you forever," she threatened, removing her jumper and tossing it and her bag to where his belongings still sat.

Draco wanted to open his mouth, wanted to tell her that it was too late-she already haunted his thoughts like an angelic specter. He thought of little else but the curve of her lips and the sparkle in her eye when he settled into each lonely night. "I wouldn't have it any other way, love."

Granger gave him another weak glare and swung her leg over the handle, straddling the broom carefully. He smirked and came up beside her to mount, watching as she reached up and pulled her curls into a pile atop her head, wrapping them with a Falcon's ribbon. That's when he saw it. Emblazoned in bright gold lettering across her petite frame. MALFOY.

His mouth was suddenly very dry and she appeared to be anxiously avoiding him she picked at a knick in his broom handle. As he swung a leg over, he had to bite back the groan that threatened to escape, to fight the urge to turn around and kiss her senseless right here on the ground.

Granger was wearing his jersey. She had not come to support Krum at all. She had waited for him for an unreasonably long time after the game. She was _straddling his broom._ Sweet Circe. Draco's hands began to shake slightly as he leaned back and took hold if her hand, pulling it to wrap around his waist. "Well, you have excellent taste in players."

"I've always had a thing for Seekers," she muttered, still clearly flustered at her own boldness as she wrapped her other arm around him as well.

This witch, she would be the death of him. He levitated a little high and she began to teeter behind him. "Easy with all the wobbling. Keep your legs wrapped tight!"

"They are!" she told him indignantly, though she let out a high pitched squeal as he went higher.

"You're not! You're wobbling around on the broom like an old alcoholic! Hold still and hang on tight!" Draco told her and he accelerated at a lazy pace.

Granger let out a string of giggles that were wholly unlike her and he found he enjoyed the sound of her joyous laughter. Her arms tightened around him and she scooted a little closer to his back. He leaned forward a little and her chin came to rest on his shoulder. "It _is_ pretty from up here," she commented.

He took in a breath of fresh air as a cloudy mist settled around them. The lights were glittering all around them, catching on the mist like millions of diamonds. "Flying always calmed me. When shit got crazy, I would escape and fly around the Manor on my broom. I never dreamed I would live to see the day I played professional Quidditch."

Granger-Merlin bless her-shifted her face and brushed her lips over his neck in a subtle kiss. His heart picked up to an embarrassing pace and he was certain she would feel it when her hand snaked up his abdomen to rest around his middle. He knew a blush of his own was burning on his face and he was grateful his back was to her.

All of the moments of mild flirting, the conversations held in far corners of Potter's dining parties, the genuine compliments that passed between them. Moments he had only hoped meant something more to her as well, they began playing in his mind like one of those muggle films she coerced him into watching. His hand came up and ran along her forearm, ending when he laced his fingers between hers.

"Would you be okay with going a little higher?" he asked and he was ashamed at the husky quality of his tone.

There was no hesitance as he felt her nod against him. Draco led them toward the stands and landed on the highest. She was a little unsteady as he helped her from the broom and he slipped an arm around her waist. He gestured over the low wall toward the ground outside of the stadium. "They always let off fireworks after the wins. I thought maybe you'd like to watch them. Some of Weasley's own creation."

Sure enough, not a minute later, the crowds outside were cheering and hollering, having a merry time and a large falcon shot into the sky. Granger was sitting sideways on the bench, her legs saddling it. Draco mimicked this stance. "George always does have the best quality explosives. Especially since Seamus joined the business," she commented, smiling as a second bird shot into the sky and flew in intricate circles with the first.

The lights in the stadium cut off, leaving them in complete darkness at this height, save the splashes of color that played over Granger's face. They sparkled in her dark eyes and turned her golden skin shades of emerald, gold, scarlet. "They're beautiful," she remarked, turning her gaze from the display. "They're celebrating you, and you're up here with me."

A small, bashful smile curved her mouth upward and Draco thought of the way those soft lips felt when she had brushed them along his neck minutes before. He longed to feel them against his and he leaned forward, his eyes darting toward hers, searching for permission. Granger leaned forward as well, closing the rest of the space.

And then the world ceased to exist beyond the two of them. Her lips pressed firmly to his, soft and tasting sweet of peppermint. If he had not been sitting, his knees would have given out when she lifted a hand and gently cupped his jaw, her tongue gliding tentatively along his lower lip. A breath of wind brought along her scent, clean and distinctly _her,_ and he was surprised he could even smell it at all-he was certain he had stopped breathing the moment his tongue had slid along hers.

Draco placed on hand on her thigh, using it to brace himself, lest he collapse from sheer bliss. His other hand tugged at the ribbon she had use to wrangle her curls and they bounced free between them. How many nights had he longed to bury his fingers into her hair? It was smoother to the touch than he had expected as he wove his lithe fingers into it, pulling her closer. He felt her hand mimic his, sliding up one thigh as she ran the other over the nape of his neck, learning him. Her hands left scorching trails as she studied his contours and planes.

In the distance, people were still celebrating loudly and the fireworks exploded with loud cracks, but all he could hear was the sweet little moan that escaped her throat, one he swallowed hungrily. The sensual sound of their mouths moving against one another, the soft sigh when she finally pulled back to breathe. "I've waited so long for that," Granger confessed, once again shy.

She had invaded all of his senses and clouded any rational thought he may have had. She was confirming that she had wanted him all along. _Bleeding hell, I'm the luckiest man alive._ His eyes met hers once more and he noticed a glint of gold against the mahogany. "Then we have a lot of time to make up for," he insisted, brushing his lips against hers and getting lost in her kiss once more.

o-o-o


	16. Compliments like Confetti

A calendar hung on the wall, each day ticked off as a matter of habit, not necessity. Time meant very little when in the midst of a war—days melted into weeks and weeks into years. Hours crept by, filled with paranoid chatter of Innocents being captured or slaughtered, of failed coups. With hushed celebrations of momentous victories, of courageous displays of strength, of lives valiantly given for the cause.

The picture on the calendar was of a forest of evergreens, dusted with snow, a small deer frolicking below. Draco often stared at the photograph by the light of the moon, absurdly wishing he were alongside that tiny deer, not a care in the world except to catch snowflakes from the weighted sprigs above.

Instead, he lay tucked within his sleeping bag, wedged between the desk and Granger's sleeping form. The Weasleys had so graciously offered up the Prewett family lake house as a headquarters for the Order after the townhouse on Grimmauld Place had been attacked. With so many Order members staying in the home, every room had four or more occupants at any given time. Given that Potter and Weasley were away for the week to retrieve supplies, that left only Draco and Granger in the attic.

Draco glanced at the calendar, noting that every date in December had a stark red line across it. New Year's Eve, and the dawning of a new millennium. They'd been fighting the war against the Dark Lord for three years already, a war that felt unwinnable.

He tore his eyes from the sprightly doe and dragged them downward until they landed on Granger. She was close enough for him to touch if he so desired—and Merlin, some days that desire was so strong he had to shove his hands in his pockets to keep from doing just that. With her back to him, her hair lay in a nested mass on the pillow behind her head, her sweater draping just enough to expose the tanned curve of her shoulder.

Loud cracks sounded from beyond the house, rattling the windows and causing Draco to jump. Huffing a laugh at his own stupidity, he sat up and peered out into the night. Across the lake, Muggles were beginning their midnight festivities early, large fireworks blooming across an inky sky. He unzipped his sleeping bag, watching guiltily as Granger stirred at the noise. Draping it around his shoulders, he stood and walked to the window.

With a flick of his wand, it swung in toward him and he climbed quietly through, keeping low to the rooftop as he crept a small measure out. The winter air was crisp and biting on his cheeks but he relished the refreshing feel of it as he sat on the rooftop, his sleeping bag covering his shoulders and tucked close under his chin.

The fireworks reflected off the surface of the lake, dancing across the ripples of water in neon waves. Across the lake, the Muggles had a bonfire going, their cheers and hollers echoing as bursts of colour tore through the night. He envied them, just as he envied the deer on the calendar. Carefree, genuine celebrations without bloodspill, blissfully unaware of the war raging right under their noses.

The window creaked behind him and he peered over his shoulder to find Granger stepping through. Her hair was wild, her eyes puffy with the first sleep she'd gotten in months. "I'm sorry," he murmured, turning back to the light show, "I should have silenced the room for you."

"'S'no big deal," Granger replied, yawning wide and trembling as she held her covers close in a mirror image of him. "I wasn't sleeping anyway."

She came to rest next to him, saddling up close enough to brush knees. "Hard to believe we're entering a new year under the same duress and threats from the last three," she whispered, drawing her knees up so she could rest her chin atop.

Draco looked at her, watched the explosions reflected in her glassy chestnut orbs. He scooted a hand out from under his cocoon and slipped it within hers, finding her icy fingers and lacing them with his. A show of solidarity between them. "We're going to win this. No matter how long it takes, we have to." He attempted to sound convincing, though it fell flat even to his own ears. His own despair was choking the very vitality from him.

Checking his watch, Draco saw that there were only two minutes until midnight. Granger's eyes never left the Muggles as they continued to hoot and holler, and he wondered if she ever thought about escaping to the world in which she was raised. "Do you ever think about going back? To their world?"

Finally looking away from the festivities, Granger looked at him with an incredulous eyebrow raised. "Why would I do that?"

"To live a much simpler life than to chase Horcruxes and follow Potter around Europe. You could be attending University right now."

"This is my home—it has been since I was twelve years old. I couldn't leave it all now. My friends are here." She gently squeezed his hand. "My family. I'm going to stay and fight, even if it kills me. I owe it to the world that saved me."

She really was incredible. He knew she didn't hear that sentiment near enough from her other friends. "You're amazing, you know that?" he murmured, bumping her shoulder with his.

"How so?" she asked, a breathy laugh clouding the chilled air between them.

Across the way, the Muggles began counting down to the new year.

" _Thirty!"_

"You stick to your convictions. Never faltering and always doing what is right for the greater good."

Granger smiled and looked down at her hands. "Yes, but what about you? It was a great display of courage to join the Order and to defy Voldemort like you did."

Draco had defected the moment he was handed down the impossible task of killing the Headmaster in sixth year. In the time since, both of his parents had followed his lead and now rested two stories below them.

"But you have this…this magnanimous compassion unlike anyone I've ever met. You certainly forgave me far sooner than the others." Months sooner. And a year sooner, in Weasley's case.

Granger met his eyes, gripping his hand tightly and speaking to him with her aforementioned conviction. "You're far kinder than you give yourself credit for."

" _Twenty-two!"_

Draco scoffed, shaking his head. "You're blinded by your persistent need to see the good in people."

She shook their clasped hands and her voice rose as she tried to convince him of her words. When he refused to meet her eye, she used the index finger of her other hand to lift his chin and force him to look at her. "You couldn't hide who you truly were anymore. You made it easy for me to forgive you—who you are inside. Selfless, concerned, decent."

Magic crackled at the tips of her curls, strong currents that frizzed her hair to a voluminous size. "Merlin, you're frightening."

Granger furrowed her brow, taken aback at his words. He ran his thumb over the smooth skin of her hand and smirked. "In all the right ways."

She scoffed. "Have you ever seen yourself duel? Your grace and agility is enough to strike fear in even the most worthy adversary. I'm ashamed to admit I'm jealous of such ability."

" _Fifteen!"_

Magic continued to electrify in her curls, her hair framing her heart-shaped face. He eyed it and ran his palm over the surface before tugging at the end of a curl and laughing lightly as it sprang back into place. "Your hair is quite fetching as it sparkles with unrestrained magic."

He brushed it back over her shoulder and she ran her finger tip over his jawline. "Your face isn't all that painful to look at. Now that it's not so pointy," Granger teased, all the while leaving her fingers to ghost over his chin.

" _Ten!"_

Granger's eyes looked over his face, drinking in his features. The melancholy moment had lifted and was replaced but an excitable energy between them. Draco's heart began beating profusely, a heat creeping up from his chest to settle aflame in his cheeks. This was far more complimentary than they'd ever been with one another, more flirtation than either one of them had ever dared to allow.

" _Six!"_

Though he felt that he'd never be worthy of her, Draco decided if there were ever a time to tell her exactly what he felt, it should be now as they ushered in a new year amidst an old war. The tempo within his chest increased and he was embarrassed at the way his hand began to tremble within hers with both anxiety and excitement. "You're the complete package: intelligent, quick-witted, kind, and beautiful and any wizard would be lucky to have you."

There. His declaration was now out in the open, hanging between them as Granger searched his features. At finding no hint of deception or teasing in his statement, a small smile began to play across her face.

" _Three!"_

"But there's only one wizard I want."

No sooner had the words left her mouth was she staring hungrily at his lips, which curved into an obnoxiously wide grin.

" _Two!"_

"Why didn't you say that sooner?" he asked, leaning forward until he could feel her warm breath blow over his face in small puffs of air.

" _One! Happy New Year!"_

Granger snaked her hand over his blanketed shoulder and the cool tips of her fingers raised gooseflesh over his body as she buried her hand in the nape of his shirt. "Just kiss me now," she commanded lightly, and she brought her lips to press firmly against his. Draco's hands tangled into her curls, pulling her tight against himself as his tongue slid experimentally over her lips.

The Muggles seized the opportunity to set off dozens of fireworks all at once, the colours dancing behind Draco's eyelids. But they were nothing compared to the explosively elated feeling of kissing and being kissed by Hermione Granger.

**Author's Note:**

> This is written for Darshu, who requested I use the Draco & Hermione from The Princess and the Pariah and include their daughter as a young child to write a 'Draco's birthday' drabble.


End file.
